#And I Think dropped it. bc then they’re in the next room

[the-meme-monarch]

Not sure if you’ve read it before or not, but have you heard of “Behind the Music” by 3wisellamas on ao3? It’s a found family fic about the scc meeting and forming their trio.

They aren’t characterized at all how you characterize them, but I think it’s worth a read given how a lot of the scc focused fics have them be together or something (which is fine but I like to read about them being friends).

no 👍 i very very rarely read fics for deltarune and Especially not for scc. if they’re not siblings it makes me feel gross. even if it Isn’t shipping idk how to explain it. the amatonormativity i guess. the “they’re not related so they Could be shipped without issue and most of the fandom already does” if that makes any sense. i hope that doesn’t sound mean. the author can do whatever they want I should not be their problem. i interact with this fandom like I’m under a table and sometimes i put my art on top of it for other people to look at and sometimes peopel drop their own stuff on the floor so i look at it. if anybody says anything about My Damn Opinions to the author I will kill you with sticks

[villainsidestep]

got sad abt fawn’s little motel room again 😞

[whisperedmeg]

FEVER DREAM ⟢ spencer reid x greenaway!reader

summary: you don’t get sick. you don’t let coworkers into your apartment. and you definitely don’t have vivid, full-body sex dreams about spencer reid. except today, apparently, you do all three.

genre: smut, fluff, hurt/comfort

tags/warnings: reader is elle’s sister, reader has the flu, fever dream but make it a sex dream (p in v, yapper!spencer bc it is canon to me he cant shut up in bed, orgasm denial but not intentional lol), caretaker sweetheart spencer, spencer brushes reader’s hair RAHHH, one bed trope (ig?) but he sleeps in a chair, coffee (+ tea) as a love language, no use of y/n, 18+ MDNI

a/n: I was itchinggg to write smut for them and had to find a way to make it work lmao so here’s how that ended up. & check out greenaway!reader’s apartment moodboard to further immerse yourself in the story. hope you enjoy! xo | GIF credit to @reidgif !

greenaway!reader masterlist 🥀

You never call out of work.

Not for migraines. Not for hangovers. Not even that time you got a black eye on a case and still showed up the next day like you hadn’t been slammed into a brick wall behind a warehouse in Albany.

And you never get sick.

But today? Today, your body mutinies.

You wake with your mouth dry, your throat raw, and your head stuffed with what feels like cotton soaked in battery acid. For a second you think it must be a hangover — but you haven’t had a drink in three days and you’re sweating through your sheets.

You fumble for your phone, knock it to the floor, and groan like someone twice your age as you reach down to grab it. The screen nearly blinds you. 9:17am — over an hour late for work. Six missed calls from Garcia. Three texts from Prentiss. One from Hotch, which you don’t open because if you have to look directly at his disappointment, you might actually die.

You unlock your phone, dial the general BAU line, and hold it to your ear with the back of your hand pressed to your forehead.

“Hey,” you croak into the voicemail box. “It’s Greenaway. I’m—” You cough so hard it short-circuits the sentence. “—dying, I think. I have the plague. Tell Hotch I’m not ditching work on purpose. Actually don’t tell him, I don’t care. I’m going back to sleep. Don’t call me unless someone’s dead.”

You hang up before you can overthink it. You’re not even sure what you just said.

You drop the phone somewhere in the blankets and cocoon yourself back into the twisted mess of sheets. You’re wearing only an old t-shirt — a faded Nirvana logo stretched across the chest, neckline loose and exposing one shoulder — with underwear and nothing else, which is standard sick-day protocol. If you’re going to suffer, you’re going to suffer without pants.

The heat in your body surges and dips like a tide. One second you’re freezing, the next you’re sweating again. You vaguely consider dragging yourself to the kitchen for water, or maybe finding something resembling medicine, but your bones feel like wet concrete.

So instead you close your eyes, and the world slides sideways.

—

You don’t know where you are.

The room doesn’t have walls. Or maybe it does, but they’re soft and golden and out of focus, like lamplight through gauze. You don’t remember how you got here, but none of that matters — not when there’s a body pressed over yours, warm and slow and careful.

He’s already inside you.

That much is clear. You’re full — blissfully, unbearably full — in the way that makes your eyes flutter shut and your throat catch on a moan you can’t quite voice. You arch into the sensation before you even think to name it.

There’s a hand on your hip, gentle but firm, calloused fingers curling like he’s anchoring himself with you. Another brushes up your ribcage and cups your jaw, tilting your face with reverence. His mouth lands on your neck. Your shoulder. Every kiss feels like possession.

You gasp.

His hips move in a steady, delicious rhythm. Deep. Dragging. Each thrust winds tighter around the point of tension buried low in your stomach, and you can feel everything — the stretch, the weight, the friction. The unbearable closeness of him. The way you clench around his cock when he pulls back just enough to make you chase it.

Your mind is moving through molasses, every thought slow and syrupy around the edges. The only thing you can process is the feeling. The sound of his breath. The warmth of his mouth trailing up to your ear.

“I’ve thought about this,” he whispers.

Your heart lurches at the voice. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in briefing rooms, across café tables, in hotel lobbies, on planes. But never like this. Not soaked in heat and hunger. Not vibrating against your throat like he’s memorizing your breathing patterns.

“I’ve thought about how you’d sound,” he murmurs, dragging his lips over your skin like he’s tracing every goosebump. “How you’d taste.”

Your fingers curl in his hair before you even realize they’re moving. It’s soft. Messy. And familiar, because you’ve ruffled it before.

You still haven’t opened your eyes, and you’re not sure you want to.

Because if you do, you’ll see it. You’ll see that it’s him — Spencer Reid, exactly how you’ve never seen him before.

This is ridiculous. You don’t think about him like this. You’ve spent months not thinking about him like this. But little by little — and much to your annoyance — he’s dismantled your armor without even trying. And when your hand touched his a few weeks ago and lingered for a moment too long, something shifted.

So you roll your hips up into him anyway. Your fingers dig in. And you let yourself drown.

“You always smell like cinnamon gum and coffee,” he says, breath hot against your cheek. “And like the record aisle in an old music store. And like your spicy floral perfume. Like something I want to memorize.”

His hips thrust deeper, and your back bows.

You moan — shameless, aching — and he swallows the sound with a kiss that feels nothing like the way you’ve been kissed before. It’s open-mouthed and wet and claiming, but all the while still achingly tender.

You gasp against his lips.

“You don’t ever have to pretend,” he whispers. “Not with me.”

His words slide under your skin, familiar and foreign all at once. He adjusts the angle, shifts his weight and— fuck. You wrap your legs around his waist without thinking, chasing that unbearable friction.

His hand slides up your body and holds you steady as he fucks into you harder, edged with something needier. He’s groaning now, breath ragged in your ear.

“Spencer,” you hear yourself moan. The weight of it slams into you, but you don’t wake.

His name is everywhere. It’s written into your pulse. Into the way your body breaks open for him. Into the way you’re trembling now, close, too close, the whole world narrowing to the ache between your legs and the velvet rasp of his voice.

“I notice things about you,” he breathes. “I know which coffee shop is your favorite. I know when you’re pretending not to be cold. I know how you press your nails into your palm when you’re trying to keep your composure.”

You bite your lip, breath shuddering. Your orgasm is right there — clawing up your spine, hot and overwhelming, threatening to rip you in half.

“I know you think no one sees you,” he says, thrusting once, twice — “but I do. I see all of you.”

You cry out. Nails digging into his shoulder. Hips trembling. Right on the edge, and then—

Knock, knock.

Your eyes slam open. Your body jolts.

And suddenly, you’re alone. Drenched in sweat, heart racing, muscles clenching around nothing. Your chest is still heaving like he was really here — like his hands are still on your body.

Knock, knock, knock.

You sit up in bed, disoriented and flushed, the dream still clinging to your skin. You press your palms to your face, breath shaking.

You don’t know who the hell is at your door. But you know exactly who you just came this close to coming in your sleep for.

Why the fuck would you dream of him like that? Spencer Reid, of all people — with his stupid facts and his twitchy hands and his painfully earnest everything. That is not how you think of him. That’s not what you want.

Or is it?

You groan, dragging your hand down your cheek. You feel like you’re made of wet paper towels and static electricity — shaky, overheated, slick with sweat in places you really don’t want to think about right now. You glance toward the clock. Somehow, it’s already evening. You’ve slept through most of the day. Maybe most of the week; it’s hard to tell.

Another fucking knock.

You roll out of bed with a grunt, legs wobbling. Your t-shirt clings to your damp back, and your panties are—

Nope. Not something you want to think about right now.

You spot the silk lounge shorts you peeled off the night before crumpled near your laundry basket and tug them on with trembling hands.

The knocking doesn’t stop.

“Hold ON,” you rasp, voice raw and barely there.

You nearly trip over your own feet as you stumble down the short hallway towards your door. You’re too disoriented to check the peephole. You just unlock it with clumsy fingers and swing it open.

The man of the hour, Spencer Reid, is standing in the hall holding a crumpled brown paper bag in one hand and a reusable grocery tote in the other. There’s a slightly panicked expression on his face, as if he half-expected you to answer the door with a loaded gun but is somehow more jarred by your current state instead.

“Hey,” he says.

You blink at him. “Am I hallucinating?”

His eyes dart over you — oversized t-shirt hanging off your bare shoulder, zero makeup, flushed skin, hair in a tangled, chaotic knot on top of your head. He visibly swallows.

“You look… comfortable.”

You squint. “Ouch?”

He ducks, stepping inside. “You know what I mean.”

You don’t even try to stop him. That’s how you know you’re sick — really sick. Any other day, you’d have slammed the door in his face after cursing him out just for finding out where you live.

“How the hell did you get my address?”

“I bribed Garcia to pull it from your file for me,” he says without shame. “Cake pop and a plushy for her office. She folded in under ten seconds.”

You groan and walk towards the couch, swaying slightly as the world tilts. “You woke me up,” you mutter, voice rough and thick with sleep. “From a dream.”

He winces. “Sorry,” he says earnestly. “What was it about?”

You freeze.

You should lie. Say something believable about falling, or flying, or your teeth falling out. Anything. But before you can scramble for a cover story, he’s already rambling.

“You know, dreams are often more about emotional state than content,” he says. “I don’t really believe in dream analysis or strict Freudian symbolism, but a lot of people interpret dreams as reflections of unresolved subconscious tension or desires. Wish fulfillment, repressed emotions, that kind of thing. And Jung wrote about—”

“Spencer,” you grumble into the couch cushions.

He pauses mid-sentence. Whether it’s from the interruption or the rare slip of his first name from your lips, you aren’t quite sure.

You blink. “I’m too sick for a lecture right now.”

“Right. Sorry,” he says again sheepishly, stepping further inside. “Occupational hazard,” he adds with a quirk of a smile.

He sets the bags down on your counter and begins unloading items with surgeon-level focus: two different kinds of soup, a sleeve of saltine crackers, an assortment of teabags, ginger ale, cherry cough drops, a small jar of Vicks, extra strength cold & flu medicine, and a pack of those fancy tissues with lotion in them that you secretly really like but would never spend the extra dollar on.

You watch from the couch, arms folded tightly across your stomach. “You do realize I’m contagious, don’t you Dr. Germaphobe?”

“I got my flu shot,” he replies with a shrug. “And I’ve been loading up on electrolytes and immunity-boosting supplements all season.”

You narrow your eyes. “That doesn’t make you invincible.”

“No,” he admits, meeting your gaze with a little half-smile. “I’ll be fine, though. I don’t want you worrying about that.”

That smile. Your heart lurches again — not like in the dream, but close enough to make you nauseous. Or maybe that’s just the fever.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you murmur quietly.

“Probably not,” he agrees, rummaging through your cabinets. “But here I am. Besides, I owe you.”

You drop your head back against the cushions and close your eyes. You can still feel the dream burning through your bloodstream, the weight of his body on your body, the rasp of his voice in your ear.

And now he’s here. In your apartment. Standing in your kitchen and looking like he stepped straight out of your subconscious, only realer. And worse, because he’s not touching you.

“I made your favorite tea,” he says, eventually placing a mug down on the table in front of you.

You crack one eye open. “You don’t know my favorite.”

He lifts one brow. “Orange blossom with honey. One ice cube so you don’t burn your tongue. Right?”

You stare at him.

“Right,” you mumble. “That’s… mildly disturbing.”

“I told you, I notice things.”

Those words sizzle with memories — both real and imagined.

He hands you the mug and your fingers brush his for a fraction of a second. Suddenly, the dream flashes in the back of your mind like lightning. Ignore, ignore, ignore.

You sip slowly, and after he brings you the soup and crackers, he sits beside you — not too close, not too far. You eat quietly, and he doesn’t talk. Just lets the low hum of a Cranberries record fill the room. You’re not sure when he put it on, or why he put it on, but it makes everything feel… softer.

Eventually, once your bowl is empty, he takes it without a word and rinses it in your sink. You watch, dazed, as he wipes down your cluttered coffee table, carefully scoops your wilted tissue pile into the trash, and folds the fuzzy blanket you’d kicked onto the floor during a hot flash. He doesn’t say a word about any of it — just does it, and you’re too weak to protest. Too bewildered to stop him. And maybe too grateful, also.

When he finishes tidying, he rummages in your purse (which normally you’d slap him for, but again… too weak) and pulls out a battered deck of playing cards. You blink at him.

“Go Fish?” he offers, holding them up like a peace treaty.

You snort, then cough. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m not,” he says, already shuffling. “You’re not in any shape for something more mentally complex.”

You laugh, which turns into another cough, which turns into another laugh, cough, laugh. He smiles again — small, but real — as he deals the cards out between you.

It’s silly. Mindless. Totally ridiculous. You’re losing horribly because you keep zoning out and losing track of your cards mid-turn, and you think he’s trying to let you win anyway. You accuse him of cheating at least twice, and at one point, he slides a tissue toward you without breaking eye contact and says, “You need this.” You throw a pillow at him in embarrassed rage and immediately regret the exertion.

And somewhere in the middle of all of that, it stops feeling weird that he’s here. It just feels like Spencer.

Time blurs again. You’re not sure how long it’s been. Long enough that his tea’s gone cold and the sun’s long since disappeared beneath the horizon. Your sentences stopped making sense about three sneezes ago — you’d exhausted all of your remaining capacity for coherence on the card game.

He glances toward the darkened window and clears his throat.

“Do you need anything else?” he asks — quiet now, a little more hesitant. The question hovers, and it’s clear he’s about to stand up and the spell’s about to break.

You stare at him for a second. You could —should — say no and just let him go.

But your head is pounding, and your skin feels wrong, and your hair— your hair is a fucking nightmare.

And… you’re not quite ready for him to leave.

You blink once. Then again. And say, voice cracking, “Brush.”

He tilts his head. “What?”

You nod toward the bedroom weakly. “Hairbrush. Vanity drawer.”

His brow furrows. “You want me to—?”

You nod again, weaker this time. “Please. Hurts. Too tangled.”

There’s a long pause. You think maybe he’s going to say no, make an excuse to leave.

But instead, you zone back into reality when you hear the faint creak of your bedroom door opening. The sound of a drawer. A rustle.

Soft footsteps approach again and you feel the couch cushions dipping with his weight beside you once more. You turn so your back is facing him and let your shoulders slump.

When his fingers slide into your hair to take out the bun on top of your head, you shiver.

He works gently. Carefully. Letting your tresses fall loose, starting at the ends and slowly detangling. It’s the kind of physical tenderness you’re not used to — not from yourself, not from anyone, and most definitely not from him.

You pretend you’re too feverish to notice how good it feels. But the truth is, you notice. God, do you notice.

You lean back slightly into the touch without meaning to. Your arm brushes his leg next to you on the couch. And then — for just a second — his hand rests on the crook of your neck.

Right there.

Right where his mouth — his lips, his tongue, his teeth — had been in the dream.

Your whole body goes still. Your breath catches.

The touch is innocent. Innocuous. Nothing about it is deliberate.

But still, it makes something snap behind your ribs.

You pull away, standing so quickly it makes you dizzy. “I should go lie back down.”

He blinks up at you, brush still in hand. “Right. Of course.”

You don’t look at him — you can’t. You shuffle down the hall, crawl back into bed, and bury yourself in blankets that feel a little too hot now. You expect to hear the front door click shut any second.

But he doesn’t leave. And a few minutes later, you hear the soft creak of the armchair in your room.

You lift your head and see Spencer curled up in it, long legs folded awkwardly. Watching you. Guarding, maybe. Or just refusing to go.

“I won’t stay much longer,” he promises, half-apologetic. “Just… until you fall asleep.”

Your throat is thick. You’re too tired to protest. “Okay.”

You close your eyes.

And when you wake sometime in the middle of the night, your fever a few degrees lower and the dream faded just enough to dull the ache, you realize he’s still there.

Asleep. Slouched in the chair. Mouth slightly open. One hand twitching faintly, as if he’s dreaming too.

Something about the sight presses warm against your ribs and bubbles up in your chest. You make a failed attempt to push that feeling back down before you get up and grab a blanket from your closet, draping it gently over his body.

You don’t say a word, but you do watch him for a second longer than necessary.

Then you crawl back into bed and let yourself sleep.

—

You’re back at work the next morning.

You’re still pale, still a little unsteady, but the fever finally broke sometime around dawn, and that’s good enough.

Your Doc Martens echo against the floor in the quiet corridor as you push through the glass doors of the BAU. You nod at an agent you don’t know in the bullpen, ignore the slight burn behind your eyes, and keep your pace steady.

It’s only when you reach your desk that you falter.

There’s a coffee cup waiting there.

Not the usual office brew. This one’s from your favorite place — the overpriced café three blocks away. There’s a sleeve around the cup as always, with a doodle scrawled in ink across the cardboard: a fish with Xs for eyes and a crooked crown. A half-assed tribute to the Go Fish massacre of the night before.

A pair of initials are scribbled beneath it, as if you didn’t already know who’d left it there:

-S.R.

Your throat goes tight.

You glance across the bullpen and find him already watching you. Spencer looks away fast, like he hadn’t meant to be caught. Like he hadn’t just pulled your subconscious apart twelve hours ago and stitched it back together with soup and cherry cough drops. Like he hadn’t slept in a chair in your bedroom and disappeared silently before your alarm went off.

You pick up the cup and walk over before you can overthink it.

He pretends not to notice you approaching until you’re close enough for him to smell the faint trace of your shampoo.

You lean your hip against his desk as you hold up the coffee and tap the sleeve with your finger. “This some kind of warning? Sleep with one eye open, the Go Fish King rises again?”

His mouth twitches into a grin. “You’re the one who stole all my jacks.”

“Stole? Please. I don’t cheat at children’s card games.”

“You cheat at everything,” he says, bemused.

You don’t argue. You just look at him — really look — and for a second, the room tilts. Or maybe you do.

The echo of his imaginary mouth on your skin hums through your nerves like static. You see the flash of his hand on your neck. The dream crashing over you again in a strange, hot wave.

You clear your throat and take a long sip of coffee, trying to shake the memory.

“I needed this,” you say finally. “Thanks.”

His expression shifts, surprised to hear that word from your lips. “You’re welcome.”

You pause and let your gaze flick up to his — steady and too soft — then back to the cup in your hand.

“That whole Florence Nightingale act yesterday…” You hesitate, words sticking. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I know. But I figured it was my turn, after the bandaid thing.”

You glance at him again. He’s watching you carefully, like he’s trying not to spook you.

“I’m glad you did,” you admit quietly.

Something flashes in his eyes — not surprise, not quite. More like relief and gratitude and something else that makes your stomach twist.

You look away before it can settle.

“But don’t go getting any ideas about me being some helpless damsel in distress,” you add, deflecting. “I had a 101 degree fever and wasn’t myself. I don’t even remember most of it—”

That’s a lie. You remember all of it.

“—so if I said or did anything weird, you legally can’t hold it against me.”

Then you turn, raise the coffee cup a little in a half-assed sarcastic cheers motion, and head back to your desk before he can respond.

You don’t look back.

But you can feel him watching you, just like in the dream. Only this time, you’re awake. This time, it’s real. And that might be the most disorienting part of all.

You settle in, fingers curling around the cup as you slip off the cardboard sleeve and slide it discreetly into your desk drawer.

The coffee is still hot, the dream is still lodged under your skin, and your body remembers his far too well.

It never happened. It wasn’t real. But you think about his voice, low and wrecked, whispering little things into your neck.

You think about the real parts, too. The way he ran your brush through your tangled hair. The way he stayed all night. The way he looked at you like you were something worth noticing. The way you can’t seem to scare him off.

And for a moment — just one — you wonder what it would feel like to stop pretending you don’t want him.

Wait. What?

Nope. Must be the fever talking again.

ᝰ.ᐟ

PSA: likes do very little for promoting posts on tumblr! if you'd like to support a fic, please reblog!

[sexbot300]

18+, minors dni! (being a slut for nanami bc honestly who isn’t)

authors note: hello! this is my first-ever post, i hope you guys enjoy it! (I literally have no idea how layouts work yet, bear with me)

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚

sugardaddy!nanami who scolds you whenever you feel as if you’re “doing too much,” with all the lavish gifts he gives you. nothing is too much for his angel.

sugardaddy!nanami that asks which jewelry set you like best. emerald or ruby? ah. how about both?

sugardaddy!nanami who you thought would be a joyless, serious man as people portray him. they’re not lying, he really is serious, to people that aren’t you. you’ll witness a soft side of him that only shows the most gentle of smiles.

sugardaddy!nanami who gladly scoops you up bridal style in his arms, walking while you burry your head into his chest.

sugardaddy!nanami who unpacks the gifts he gets you on the countertop after a business trip. “kento, baby, you shouldn’t have.” you play with the polyester ribbon while he simply leans back on the fridge opening up a beverage. “I couldn’t help but have the prettiest woman in the world waiting for me at home. it would be embarrassing of me to show up empty-handed.”

sugardaddy!nanami who for the first few times that you went out with him, meticulously kept track of the things you called “cute” and noted wherever your eyes wandered for a minute too long. the next morning you woke up with everything you ogled your eyes at decorating your room. attached is a note that read, “please forgive me, sweetheart, I didn’t know which you liked best. p.s. my sincerest apologies again, I let my own thoughts get carried away. be good for me and wear this tonight.” your fingers gingerly held onto the note, until your eyes fell on two things you don’t remember looking at when you went out shopping. a beautiful silk gown and an expensive lingerie set.

sugardaddy!nanami who will gladly kneel to strap your heel, placing a kiss on your ankle, after trailing his hand up and down your shin.

sugardaddy!nanami who sends you a monthly allowance for your hair, nails, skincare, and whatever you desire.

sugardaddy!nanami who thinks indulging in materialistic things is futile, but he wants to see you decorated in every fine piece of fabric, clothing, and accessories.

sugardaddy!nanami who acts as if he’s unbothered by you curling up on his lap while he types away on his work computer. you couldn’t even tell how much he adores every second of this as he idly types away. he loves to have you pushed up on him all the time, the minute you slightly move? a strong hand is placed on your thigh or waist to prevent you from leaving.

sugardaddy!nanami who’s only condition is to continue this dynamic until you’re unhappy or want nothing to do with it. (you literally want to marry this man but okay).

sugardaddy!nanami who has a saturday night ritual with you where you buy the most extravagant of desserts and feed it to each other. oh yeah, you have to be sitting on his lap the entire time while you both feed each other from the same fork.

sugardaddy!nanami who places his nose on the nape of your neck while you’re seated on him as he sharply breathes in your scent. “as much as I enjoy eating sweets with you,” he said in a whisper, “they could never mimic your taste.”

sugardaddy!nanami who started off paying your rent, bills, and utilities which he felt mentally, secretly disgruntled by. not because he’s paying (duh) or he has to take care of you, it’s just the fact you haven’t moved in with him yet.

sugardaddy!nanami who considers you under his care and deems your wellbeing as his responsibility. you’re hurt? point to where. your body is sore? lay back down while he massages you. you’re hungry? food is being sent over and here’s money for grocery shopping. you’re upset? he kneels down in front of you as he attentively listens to your sobs.

sugardaddy!nanami who supports your hobbies. he’ll drop off little things that he knows have to do with your interests and only says, “you like this don’t you?” you name drop pilates, cooking, art, knitting, whatever it is, he signs you up for the nearest classes.

sugardaddy!nanami who actually notices if you did something different with your hair, if you wore a new shade of lip gloss. little things.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚

sugardaddy!nanami who places the most tender of kisses onto your forehead like he didn’t wreck your shit a second prior. “such a good girl… i’m so so proud. taking my cock in so well.”

sugardaddy!nanami that plays with your body in subtle ways. hands? his big, veiny fingers are stroking yours gently. thighs? constantly getting gripped. your waist? a strong arm wrapped around it. your cheek? a thumb stroking it. shoulders? relieving tension from it. collarbone? rearranging your necklace so it lays properly. guts? fucked out of place. makeup? smeared all across his luxurious bedsheets. lips? blown out from sucking his monster cock and making out.

sugardaddy!nanami who rents out an entire summer beach house with a glorious view of the ocean. partially because he likes the privacy of you two alone, surrounded by nature, and romantic sunset dinners. also because he wants to watch you ride him while he leans back on a beach chair without disturbing the public. (nobody is allowed to see what’s his).

sugardaddy!nanami who actually pounded you into another dimension, your mind still in a haze while he carries you to the running bath. “stay with me princess, i need to clean you up.”

sugardaddy!nanami who makes sure you finish several times before he does. oh poor baby, you’re out of breath? would you like some water? we’re not finished yet. poor nanami didn’t get to cum once, and you so badly want him to use your body to do so.

sugardaddy!nanami who buys you a personal collection of sex toys to play with when he’s not there. he personally studies the way your body twitches and convulses with certain toys, he needs to know how to please his princess. sometimes he chuckles to himself because he knows deep down, nothing– no one, can please you the way he does.

sugardaddy!nanami who sees you stressed or crying over school and work and quickly replaces those tears with ones of joy.

sugardaddy!nanami who will have you folded like a damn lawn chair and only whisper sweet nothings while drilling into you.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a high sex drive but hides it in the beginning like the gentleman he is, making sure you feel comfortable and safe.

sugardaddy!nanami who gives you the car you’ve been wanting forever. you ride the car for a bit with him ecstatic, kissing him over and over, giggling. you both quickly found a new way to celebrate. you’re pinned down over the glove compartment, one large hand gripping both of yours as they’re pinned to your back, and the sounds of skin slapping with your loud moans mix in the air. “ke-n-toooo~ I-I don’t want to ge- uh! It m-messy in h-ere…” “don’t worry darling, I-” a low grunt comes out, “i always cum inside dont I?” he quickens up the pace only to have you screaming like a whore. “t-that’s it. just take it. It feels good, I know,” he mercilessly pounds into you, kissing your temple, “just come undone on me, that’s it. make me proud.”

sugardaddy!nanami who texts you to quickly come to the office and sends you a cab for an urgent “visit.” why? he’s stressed and his favorite method to cool down is your throat expanding around his girthy dick. he'll grip the strands of your hair while cooing at you, "i know angel, i know. but you look so beautiful right now, don't stop."

sugardaddy!nanami who groans from the stressors of his job, turning his attention to you while he pushes himself back on his chair. he looks down on his bulge before sighing and tugging his tie down left and right. “go ahead. come suck me off, i need it and I know you want it too.”

sugardaddy!nanami who does the whole pillow underneath, hand pressed on lower abdomen, with a vibrator wand abusing your clit.

sugardaddy!nanami who has a diet that consists of devouring your pussy on a regular basis. “b-babe… i- ah! s-slow down,” as you elicit a loud dirty moan that fills the room, “pleaaaase.” if only you knew he takes more pleasure out of this than you and you’re the one gripping his hair to the point of leaving his scalp red. he further pushes his nose into you, mumbling, “beg all you want, I’m not done.”

sugardaddy!nanami who is a gentleman, really. who will kill anything within 5 meters if it remotely threatens you. but he can’t help but admire the way your little cunt can’t fully take it the first few times together.

sugardaddy!nanami who never thought much of daddy kinks, but when he hears “daddy” slip out of your precious mouth, his heels dig deeper into the mattress, his massive body weight shifts crushing you, angling his dick in an almost sinful way while pressing you deeper into a mating press. “say it again.”

sugardaddy!nanami who watches you squirm with a vibrator jammed to your clit and his tongue lapping up and down your cunt like any separation from his tongue and your pussy will cause his death. “k-kento s-stop this feeli- ah! I th- oh god! I think I need to pee!” he can’t help but chuckle in his head. his baby never squirted before until now.

sugardaddy!nanami who secretly wants to get you knocked up. man loves fucking his cum into you. he has such a big breeding kink that you catch on.

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

[pencil-n-pen]

SUDDENLY I HAD A VALENTINE

𓏲𝄢 ⋆. ୨୧ ˚⋆ 𓏲𝄢

post prison!spencer x hopeless romantic! civilian!reader

masterlist | kofi

i’ve rejected affection for years and years, now I have it, and damnit, it’s kind of weird

Valentine, Laufey

summary: spencer reid isn’t a genius or renowned criminal profiler- he’s just the guy who frequents the same coffee shop you do; the guy you’re probably, maybe, a little bit in love with. But you’re not the kind of girl guys like him like— right?

cw: honestly genuinely cannot think of any this one is just soft and sweet (with a touch of angst bc it’s me)

tags/tropes: strangers to lovers, spencer is so whipped, reader is a hopeless romantic, spencer finds this cute, romance novel references (i have read a LOT of them), no colleen hoover jumpscares, however there are of ali hazelwood references bc Love Theoretically is my favorite romance book of all time

a/n: something short and sweet !! trying to get over my perfectionism by just posting <3

title taken from Valentine by Laufey (GO LISTEN TO LAUFEY)

𓏲𝄢

There’s a coffee shop within a twenty minute walk from your apartment that you like to go to. It’s more a cafe, really. They’ve got a little case with a small selection of pastries and such, as well as a nice, calm little atmosphere. Cozy.

You’d decided that you wanted to read more. You’d always enjoyed it, before—

Before. And now that you have more free time on your hands, you’d thought “what better time for some good old fashioned escapism?”

Your tbr pile was a mile long and you’d found the coffee shop and it seemed like a perfect little scenario.

That was probably about a year ago. Things are different now. Not in a bad way, just the way that things change as time goes on. You’d ended up moving apartments- somewhere smaller, but you’d gained a window that overlooks the street, so win, you’d switched jobs —you work from home now— and you’d kept your nose firmly away from any and all real life romantic endeavors.

Almost all of your friends you’d met through your ex. The unfortunate thing about that is when you broke up, they were more attached to him than you, so things got a little… lonely. You have other friends, of course, but most of them have busy lives— boyfriends, husbands, kids, successful jobs, travel. You text them when you can, hang out when they’re available, but you spend most of your day, everyday alone.

You’d struggled a lot, at first. But then you take a page out of all of your books: romanticize a quiet life.

You’d stared at your empty apartment, your new desk set up for your job and decided to romanticize the shit out of your new life.

It was slow going at first. You didn’t really know how to get started, what you wanted your life to look like, so the first few months were spent primarily on Pinterest. But ideas formed, plans were made, rooms were carefully designed and days were quietly spent.

Which leads you to where you are now: a mostly lone woman leading her ideal, romanticized life. Romance books, working from home, coffee shops and thrifted sweaters and everything on your Pinterest board. You’d picked up (and dropped) several hobbies, everything from scrapbook journaling to watercolor painting to simple embroidery and sewing. You adore the lopsided and ugly-cute DIY Jellycat rabbit (appropriately named Elizabeth Bennet.)

It’d taken a year, but you felt safe and comfortable again. And throughout this entire process, you still managed to avoid or kill any attraction you’ve had for any passing man.

Except Spencer, or as you’ve dubbed him in your head, Hot Coffee Shop Guy.

You only know his name because the barista’s call it out when he takes his coffee to go, which he doesn’t always do. Sometimes he takes his coffee or tea in the cafe, sits at the same table in the far corner (almost directly across from you, as you like to sit right next to the large windows at the front of the cafe) and read.

You and him read very different books. Sometimes he reads large, thick textbooks. Sometimes he reads dusty old books. Sometimes the things he reads aren’t even in English. A very stark contrast to your fine readings of Ali Hazelwood, Elsie Silver, and Anna Huang.

Ever since you can remember, you’ve had a thing for guys who read. Not casual reading, but reading-reading. And you can’t help but think you compliment each other in aesthetic— you with your brightly colored romance books and cozy clothes, soft and cute in that way that screams “I listen to Laufey”, and him with his old books and faint smell of pine and his button downs and grandpa cardigans, looking like he listens to Tchaikovsky and The Swan by Camille Saint-Saëns.

And it’s kind of fun to daydream about. You’d never act on it, of course, guys who look as hot as him don’t seriously go for girls like you, but it’s easy to read The Love Hypothesis and imagine yourself as Olive and him as Adam.

And then he starts saying hi.

Which, okay, admittedly, is not much. But besides the barista’s —whom he’s come to recognize and strike up conversations with— you’re the only person in the cafe he says hi too. Even though there are other regulars he no doubt recognizes.

Even when he takes his coffee to go, he gives you a little wave. It’s become your thing. A “hello” if he stays and a wave if he goes.

It’s a nice little thing to have, is the problem. Who doesn’t want a jaw-droppingly hot man to make time out of his day to say hi to you specifically?

But it won’t go anywhere. Even if you hadn’t sworn off love until you’re in your mid-thirties, you’d be too shy to actually do anything about it.

You’ve seen how this goes down. He waves, you smile, you work your way up to going up to him, and he either has a girlfriend or isn’t interested. And even if, for some reason he is interested, he won’t stay interested.

So there isn’t a point to entertaining it, but you still do.

It’s fun. A little change in routine. A star-burst of excitement in your usual unchanging schedule.

—

Apparently, just because you’ve sworn off romance, doesn’t mean the universe has sworn off romance for you.

You’re at the cafe as usual, book in front of you and scrapbook behind your coffee. You’re considering making a coffee ring stain page, but you’re worried about mold and the possibility of it ruining other pages.

It’s late evening, the usual time Spencer comes in, and you’d preemptively ordered a ham and swiss croissant because you tend to end up too self conscious to get up or move around too much when he sits down, which is stupid, because he isn’t even looking at you.

He walks in right after you sit back down from ordering, so you entertain yourself with Love On the Brain so you don’t catch yourself staring at the soft brown curls and light stubble on his jawline. It’s very addicting, staring at him. He just has one of those stupidly attractive faces that beg to be stared at.

Today, he offers you a little wave, dipping down to catch your vision and a little “good evening,” as he goes by.

Wow. A wave and a hello. He must be in a good mood.

One of the barista’s —Sarah, she has two cats— drops off your croissant and rushes away, a hand pressed to her mouth, which is odd. She usually lingers so she can show you new pictures of Tweedle Dee and Microwave (her two cat’s names, respectively.)

You look down at the plate and notice a little something sticking out under the croissant. It’s their business card, but it’s upside down, and something’s written on it.

You take the little piece of cardstock, carefully reading the words written in scrawling but strangely delicate handwriting:

You look really cute today.

-Spencer

Ho. Lee. Shit.

You stare at the card, reading it and reading it and reading it and reading it and reading it and then reading it one more time, just in case.

But the words don’t change.

You look up at him, face hot, and make eye contact with Spencer. Who’s looking right back at you, textbook open on the table in front of him and a small smirk on his face.

You look back down at the table.

See, you don’t really get flirted with often. Or ever, really. You’d grown up watching early 2000s rom-com’s and then started reading romance novels in late highschool, so the disappointing reality once you hit 20 that you’d never had a boyfriend and the most romance you experience is in your head was something you had to adjust to. You’d had crushes of course, but then never went anywhere. And the few times they did never ended well. Hence the total life makeover after you last break-up.

You’ve never really experienced cute romance. Nothing like looks across a cafe and notes passed by barista’s.

He doesn’t come over and strike up a conversation, which you’re thankful for. That would be too much. He goes back to his reading, and you press the note into the pages of your book and pretend to go back to yours.

You don’t end up doing much reading that day.

—

It becomes a new thing. The notes. He doesn’t write them all the time, and they don’t always come with whatever pastry you’ve ordered. Sometimes they’re tucked under your coffee on its saucer, sometimes he slips them silently onto your table. But you always tuck them into whatever book you’re reading, so the way it’s worked out is that there’s little pieces of Spencer spread throughout a good portion of the books you own.

I like your sweater.

I think that hairstyle suits you.

Maybe we should trade books one day. Any chance you can read French?

You always look so cozy in your little spot.

Have I ever told you I think you’re pretty? (Joking, I know I have, just wanted to say it again.)

You were right about those ham and swiss croissants.

How do you get your annotations to look so pretty?

I like it when you smile.

It’s a lot. It’s tempting.

The little notes and his smile have (pathetically easily) wormed their way into your affection. You’re both afraid to get more and unwilling to go back to your normal life. You should, by all means. Appreciate the notes and then let this entire thing sail right on by.

So you do exactly what you always do when something like this happens. Consult your friends.

“He’s been giving you notes?” Penelope gasps, hand on her chest, “Hot coffee shop guy has been giving you notes, flirty notes and you’ve haven’t given him a single one?”

“I’m nervous!” You exclaim, face hot. “There are so many ways this could go wrong, and not just romantically. What if I take off the rose colored glasses and there’s this… this person who isn’t at all like I thought he’d be?”

Her expression gets a little sad at your words, and she reaches across the table to take your hand. “Okay, first of all, I have never known you to wear rose colored glasses. You’re a romantic, but you’re also too logical for that. Secondly, and I’m saying this because I love you, you need to get over yourself.”

You blink. “What?”

“No, really! You’ve concocted this entire, horrific scenario in your head about this guy who you haven’t even officially spoken to. You’re getting waaaaay ahead of yourself.”

“I know,” You look down at the cup of coffee you’ve been sipping on. Coffee at your apartment isn’t as exciting as coffee from the cafe, but Penelope wanted to hang at your place to catch up when you called her. “But I just keep thinking- what if the same thing happens again?”

She rolls her eyes, but the action is fond. “And what if it doesn’t? You’ve gotta try, babycakes. That’s what the whole romance thing is about. Taking the risk.”

“But risks are scary.” You whine.

“They are,” She says, laughing now, “But they’re also fun. I think you should give it a shot. At least hear the poor man out before you condemn him to being an axe murderer.”

“I don’t think he’s an axe murderer,” You say, “I think he might secretly be a self absorbed dick.”

“Trust me. I’m pretty sure in this case, the chances of that are pretty low.”

—

The next time you go to the cafe, Spencer is in fact there. So you push through your racing heart and sweaty palms and all the thoughts in your head that scream that is a bad idea and you take the little folded piece of paper and ask the barista to give it to him with his coffee.

Your deliberated over what to write in the note for a long time. Probably too long considering the fact that if this goes well, you’ll be writing more. But in the end, your favorite pen in hand, you’d written out a simple little:

Hi. I think your sweaters look really nice too. ♡

You’d felt like you were back in elementary school— giggling and passing notes. Unlike elementary school, though, the note passing doesn’t end in mild humiliation or heartbreak.

When he gets the note, he looks up at you, the same surprised expression on his face that you wore when you’d received his note the first time. Then, he looks down, reads it, and you get the honor of watching the most kissable blush spread across his cheeks as he readjusts his sweater.

It becomes your little thing. Your new little thing.

It’s easy to slip into, this cute little routine with Spencer.

Penelope has other thoughts on the matter.

“Sweetheart,” She says, and you can’t see her expression over the phone, but you can picture the set of her brows and the downturn of her lips, “I’m so glad you took that first scary leap and sent him a note back. But it’s been a month. Don’t you think it’s time to pick up the pace?”

“I’m taking it slow.” You say, voice half muffled by your scarf. It’s getting colder and colder and you wish the cold snap would just snap and snow already. If it’s going to be freezing, it might as well be freezing and pretty.

“No, you’re stalling. I swear to you, if I don’t hear about a date by the end of this week I’m going to go down there and ask him out for you.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that.”

“Exactly. Okay, I have to go. Love you bye!”

The dial tone sounds and you slide your phone into your pocket, further burying your face into your scarf.

You’re not really watching your surroundings as you approach the cafe, the walk too familiar, so when a hand larger than yours reaches for the door handle at the same time, you glance up in surprise.

“Sorry—“ Oh.

It’s Spencer.

He smiles at you, the same, really nice smile that you desperately want to kiss.

“Shame that our first official word together was ‘sorry’.”

You feel your face heat despite the chill outside. “Not true. I think it was actually hello.”

His smile widens. “Hello to you too.”

You blink. “Oh. Oh, I see what you did there.”

He nods to the door. “Do you want to head inside then? It’s a bit chilly out here.”

“Yeah,” A smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Yeah, I’d really like that.”

He opens the door. “After you.”

So maybe taking the first leap won’t be that scary after all.

[kooktrash]

UKIYO ✧ jeon Jungkook

summary: it’s the start of summer and there’s nothing better than dipping your toes in the sand and falling for a local boy who plays beach volleyball in his free time. he’s charming in a way you’ve never seen and you seem to understand each other better than one could imagine. both stuck in an awkward time of self discovery, you try to live in the moment and forget about your worries till they become too hard to ignore.

The Japanese word ukiyo (pronounced "u-key-yo") means "living in the moment" or "detached from the troubles of life".

✧ genre/au: summer romance, local beach boy!jk x city girl!y/n, [she/her, afab]

✧ 17.7k words

warnings: smut, fluff, ‘coming of age’ but they’re in their twenties, jk falls first. oral [f receiving]. unprotected bc they’re literally on a boat. hair pulling. jk is kinda rich boy. oc seems mean but she’s got mean vibes but just sassy and jk likes it. jk was previously engaged. law student jk. intimate missionary. jk is a volleyball player. think beach town vibes. his ex is kinda stuck up—all his friends are. jk is kinda lovesick puppy who needs aftercare lol

inspired by, Nicholas Sparks’ “The Last Song”

songs: tyrant — coldplay, mind over matter — young the giant, left hands free — alt-j, omg — suki waterhouse, sex drug etc — beach weather

✧

For a long time, summer was the only thing to look forward to in the year. The days were longer spent outside enjoying time with your friends and letting yourself sleep in until noon. As you grew older with more responsibilities that didn’t suddenly disappear when the temperature grew warmer, you began to lose feelings for the season. It made no difference in your life anymore and you longed for the days it would.

Maybe that’s why it was so easy for you to drop everything and leave your worries behind. A couple months in the sun, no stress, nothing holding you back.

”I still can’t believe I managed to convince you,” Your friend said for the third time in the last hour. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, again, “I still can’t believe it either, don’t make me regret it.”

Hoseok mocked you using a high pitched voice, turning the Jeep Wrangler into the driveway of a modern beach house, “How could you regret these next few weeks waking up to the waves crashing on the shore?”

”What magazine did you read that off of?” Your friend asked from the backseat, laughing to herself at his expense, “I hate when you talk corny.”

”Whatever, you guys are so ungrateful,” Hoseok jokes, pulling the car in ‘park’ and powering the engine off, “Next time I’ll invite someone else to come with—someone who I won't have to beg!”

”Boohoo,” You pretended to whine, getting out of the car and racing to get to your luggage first, “You love begging for me.”

”You wish,” He says with a scoff, “Hurry up and find your rooms, I want to get down to the beach as soon as possible.”

The beach was at its peak time of day where the sun sat the highest and almost every foot of sand was covered with people’s belongings. Not far from shore were rows of volleyball courts and crowds of people watching and as much as you wanted to avoid that busy side, it was the way to the boardwalk. You had no choice but to follow your friends in that direction. They were steps before you, already arguing about which store to go into first or what food stand you’ll go to but you were distracted by the large Ferris wheel in the back.

Maybe your focus should have been on the matches happening all around you but by the time you realized that it was too late. The white ball barely grazed your side when a tall figure headed straight into you with a loud thud.

A low grunt left your lips as you hit the sand with such a force that it physically ached for a moment. Your hands and face were practically covered in sand it was hard to acknowledge whatever gibberish your assailant spat out.

He didn’t have time to get a good look at you as he rushed to his feet, taking your arm and pulling you up abruptly, “Shit, I’m so sorry, I—“

“It’s fine,” your tone came out harsher than expected and it probably had something to do with the guy who loomed over you, and how embarrassed you felt. Up ahead your two friends were barely realizing you weren’t behind them and turning to find you, laughing once they did.

The stranger let his gaze trace over you with sudden curiosity, not at all intimidated by your attempt at a scowl. Now that he was looking at you up close, he had to admit he liked what he saw. He couldn’t help but grin nervously, “I’m sorry.”

His smile made you glare as you dusted sand off your jeans, “Really? I can’t tell.”

“I… it’s just, usually when there’s a ball flying people tend to dodge it,” he was walking backwards now as you tried leaving, he wanted to face you when he talked and it made his cocky smile all the more unbearable. You’ve just met the guy and he hadn’t given the best impression yet. Honestly, you’re just tired from the trip and you’re hungry so you blame that on your mood but you just want to escape this embarrassment of falling.

A scoff left your lips, “Are you saying that this is my fault? Maybe if you all played the game on the court, you wouldn’t have run after it.”

You were giving him attitude and yet he didn’t back down from returning it with a sweet smile.

“Jungkook!” Someone called from behind but the guy didn’t bother to even look back at the paused game. Instead he kept up with you, “You’re right, it’s partially my fault too so how can I make this up to you?”

You stopped walking, looking at him. You didn’t know him and he didn’t know you so there was no need to hold him up from his game any longer, “Don’t worry about it.”

“But I can’t go on like this,” The stranger, Jungkook, said, “Not until I know you’re not mad anymore.”

The way you rolled your eyes excited him in a good way. He wasn’t amusing enough for you and it was rare for him not to be.

“Jungkook! Come on man, the game!”

“Y/n!” Hoseok said loudly, “Hurry up, I’m starving.”

Just like that, the two of you walked away from each other and you had to tell yourself not to look back at him. You didn’t want to catch him doing the same before he went back to playing.

“Are you okay?” Hyeri asked, still laughing lightly, helping you shake off sand, “I was going to help you but then I saw you talking to that hot guy and I didn’t want to intervene.”

“So considerate,” you mumbled sarcastically, trying to hide your smile as you walked the steps up to the pier and forgot about whatever was happening on the sand.

The stranger really was attractive, and if he hadn’t toppled you over like it was nothing you might have stayed a little longer. When you spotted him below you couldn’t help but look him over. He wore a pair of blue and white striped swimming trunks and no shirt which gave you a good look at his muscular back and sleeve of tattoos. Compared to the players around him, he looked noticeably different from the rest and you kind of liked that.

“What are we eating?” You asked your friends who shrugged, still indecisive.

Hours after the sunset and Jungkook’s adrenaline from winning began to slowly settle down, he walked along the boardwalk with his partner. The two of them are trying to waste time for a while before their night plans come along.

“I know Yeaun is around here somewhere and if she’s here then that means Chae-hi isn’t far,” Jimin said looking around the crowded boardwalk while Jungkook followed behind lazily, “Which means a fun night for us so let’s find them.”

He could hear what Jimin was saying but he wasn’t truly listening. His attention had drifted away from the conversation the second he looked to the side and found a familiar silhouette in the distance. Well, not too familiar but he recognized it from when he crashed into you earlier.

You were with your friends at some jewelry stand looking over all the handmade bracelets and necklaces, such a short distance from him. He could easily make it over to you in no time.

“I don’t really want to see Yeaun,” Jungkook said, eyes trained on you. Jimin groaned in response, whipping back to his friend and shaking his head. He followed his line of sight and jumped in front of him.

“No, look over here, we’ve got plans,” Jimin said hoping to pull Jungkook’s attention away from some stranger, “We told Chae-hi and Yeaun we’d met them tonight.”

“No, you have plans, I never agreed to anything,” Jungkook said with a laugh, clearly amused. He tried to see if you were still there but when he looked back you were already walking away.

“Don’t be that way, think about me. Your best friend, who has been trying to get with Chae-hi for weeks now,” Jimin begged, making Jungkook sigh with defeat. He didn’t say anything as he motioned for Jimin to lead the way and went on with his life.

✧

There’s a story about how you found yourself moving into a beach house with your best friends for the summer. The opportunity sort of fell at your feet when Hoseok’s sister had to leave abroad for a couple months because of her job. She lived in a nice house on the beach that would need to be looked after and that’s when she decided to tell her younger brother about it.

Not long after, he came to you and Hyeri and asked if you wanted to join. It took a long time for him to convince you but when you realized how shitty life currently was back home, there was nothing holding you back.

Your first week has been fun getting to enjoy the warm water and sand between your toes. You’ve gotten into a bit of a routine in the area and you’ve begun to familiarize yourself with the roads and places. That’s probably why you were doing Hoseok a favor by helping him out today.

He’s busy taking care of some errands for his sister and asked if you could bring his car into the shop for some maintenance, considering Hyeri liked sleeping past noon, you had no choice but to agree to it all on your own.

“What can we do for you?” A guy in a dark gray button up and oil streaks across his hands asked you once you made it to the auto shop.

“Just an oil change.”

Jungkook had nearly forgotten about his encounter on the beach. There wasn’t much for him to remember anyway and he’s never been the type to hold onto something so meaningless. He carried on with his usual routine and busied himself away at work.

The shop he worked at was busy all of the time and it was a great distraction from whatever else happened in his life so he truly loved it. He loved getting to work with cars and getting his hands dirty. He worked with people he was friends with and sometimes, if he’s really lucky, someone who catches his attention will stagger in.

When he found you standing in the office with his boss signing papers he was visibly taken back. He had been too busy helping Namjoon take a wheel off a black Sedan, to notice when you came in but he was too late now. You were already finishing up whatever you were doing with Jin and leaving.

“I’ll be back,” Jungkook told Namjoon, tossing him the wrench he had been using and heading straight to the front.

You went across the street to the small diner and he had to think about this. Part of him didn’t feel the need to see you again, mostly because he was embarrassed by toppling you over and probably how he sounded. Part of him wanted to ask for your name, apologize and try and see if you’ll talk to him.

“I’m taking an early lunch,” Jungkook told him without much of a car as he hurried to clock out and leave for the diner.

You sat alone in a booth with your laptop open and scrolling through a website filled with job offers. It was partially out of boredom and a reminder that you needed to find somewhere for when you get back home. You could look for something in the field you used to study in but how far could you get with it?

“Excuse me,” he stood in front of you now, “I don’t know if you remember me from a few days ago but—“

“I remember,” you said blandly, looking up at Jungkook with a mixture of boredom and a small hint of possible curiosity. He looked very different with a shirt on, his abs weren’t as distracting but he still had an intimidating build. That’s why his pretty face surprised you under all that sweat and car grease. He was clearly one of the mechanics and has somehow made his way to you.

“Right, uh,” he swooped in to sit across from you, “I wanted to apologize. I didn’t mean to knock you down and sometimes when I’m playing, I kinda get a little too excited so I’m sure I was just talking and talking.”

You’re assuming he meant how he followed after you and smiled so arrogantly when you looked visibly annoyed with him. What you don’t get is why he’s apologizing again, you weren’t still upset over that.

“It’s fine,” you reminded him with a confused look, trying to read what he was really here for, “You work across the street?”

“Yeah, I’m Jungkook,” He finally introduced himself, “I saw you earlier and it was time for lunch so I came to talk to you.”

You didn’t say anything for a while and the silence wasn’t broken until the waitress came and asked what Jungkook would like. He brushed her off with a ‘Whatever she’s having’ and looked at you curiously.

“Okay,” You’re definitely not from around here because he would’ve recognized you so just who are you? He cleared his throat awkwardly, “Um, yknow, usually when someone gives you their name you say yours back.”

“Y/n,” You said distantly, “Can I ask you something?”

“Yes, anything,” Jungkook sat straighter, almost reaching up to fix his hair but stopping himself. He wasn’t nervous or anything but you’re not speaking to him with the same flirtatious tone and it’s confusing him.

“What are some fun things you can do around here other than the usual tourist stuff?” You asked him suddenly, “You are a local, I assume.”

“You assume right,” Jungkook nodded as he bit his lip in thought, “I could always show you better than I can tell you.”

“You’re a funny guy, y’know?” You smiled, “But seriously, what is there to do?”

He’s pretty sure that was just a rejection so it took him a moment to bounce back from it and tried to catch himself from doing it again.

By the time the car was ready, you were paying for your meal and hurrying to leave while Jungkook ate and enjoyed the last of his break. For the rest of the day he found himself thinking about you.

He’s lived a very repetitive and predictable life. Since early childhood he’s had the same classmates and friends, and gone to the same places and events. He’s known the same girls and has hung out with the same people for years. The only time he got any sense of independence is when he was gone for law school but now that he’s done and has returned home for the sake of his family and friends, he’s reminded once again of the repetitiveness.

Maybe that’s why he’s a little excited to meet someone new. He just had a strong feeling that you were more interesting than you let on and he wanted to know more.

He didn’t know that you felt the same and had to ignore these thoughts so you wouldn’t start anything with him. Jungkook was attractive and you’ve moved on from the fall aside from the slight bruising, and you were just trying to enjoy your time. Did you really need to meet someone?

In all honesty, he didn’t seem as arrogant covered in sweat, he looked good and he seemed nice.

But did that mean you wanted to waste your time with him?

✧

It was a crush, nothing but a small, schoolboy crush that occupied his mind from time to time. In all honesty, it was easy to ignore when he got carried away in his day to day life, it’s only when he sees you or you cross his mind for the shortest of seconds, that he finds himself getting lost. He doesn’t care for the girls his best friend likes to hang around, nor does he feel the need to upturn himself out there. Lately, all he’s wanted is to be with someone who makes him forget about himself and maybe he wasn’t looking in the right places if he thought you could help.

It was wishful thinking for him to hold so much thought over a stranger who couldn’t care less to know his name, but that’s what he liked. He wondered when he would run into you again, what he might say in hopes of getting a response and what would happen after that. He even wondered if you’d be at the beach tonight while everyone told ghost stories and drank bottles of Soju one after the other.

What does he say when he finally sees you looking at him?

You spotted him first, hating how much you wanted for him to look up and see you too. He was with his friends and you had no intentions to approach him but… well, he was cute. You can’t act like he isn’t and he’s oddly charming which makes him memorable but it was a bad idea. This trip was meant to be fun with your friends and that’s it—you weren’t going to make time for strangers.

“For once we don’t have to worry about an Uber and can walk our asses home,” Hoseok said standing over a keg, “So I don’t know about you guys, but I’m blacking out tonight.”

”When has anything ever stopped you from accomplishing that?” You asked him, turning your back to the familiar stranger, “You’re never the one ordering it anyway.”

”No, he’s usually the one we’re pushing into the backseat,” Hyeri joined in on the teasing.

“Shh, why do I always feel judged by you two? Is this what friends are for?” Hoseok pretended to be hurt as he filled your cup with beer.

“She’s not from around here, is she?” Jungkook asked as he looked across at you. You haven’t noticed him—he doesn’t think—but he’s noticed you and for some reason that excited him. Well, for one specific reason and it was simply the fact that he likes you. Does he know enough about you to pinpoint this statement? No, but he knows that he feels strange when you’re around. That has to mean something. The longest relationship he’s ever been in was with Yeaun and he doesn’t remember feeling this excited to meet someone.

“How would I know?” Jimin asked when a scoff, barely bothering to look over at you. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes, “You rather think about her than Yeaun? You’re insane.”

“Are you sure it’s Chae-hi you like and not Yeaun? You sure do bring her up around me a lot,” Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Isn’t it obvious? I want you to get back together with Yeaun so that Chae-hi will think about me instead of her ‘heartbroken’ friend,” Jimin handed him a cup of beer, “Take one for the team.”

“No, I don’t think so,” He chuckled, “We broke up for a reason so don’t push it.”

“Not a good reason,” Jimin mumbled under his breath but Jungkook chose to ignore it.

“There you are,” the devil herself said as she found him, “We were wondering where you two ran off, right?”

“Right,” Chae-hi agreed, “Hi Jimin.”

“So, it’s kind of boring here isn’t it?” Yeaun asked looking at Jungkook for assurance, “Plus all the low lives are starting to come in and I really don’t want to be around any of them. We were wondering if you guys wanted to come back to mine.”

“To do what?” Jimin asked while Jungkook stood back disinterested and distracted. He couldn’t even pretend to be interested when he was focused on someone else entirely.

By pure luck, he looked back to see if you were still standing where you were before and this time you locked eyes with him. Without much care for the conversation he was supposed to be in right now, he walked off while they discussed plans involving a hot tub.

“I’m starting to think you’re following me,” Jungkook first said as you nearly bumped into him in an attempt to get closer to the bonfire. He walked alongside you with ease, “First, on the court, then at my job and now here?”

That made you snort in disbelief, shaking your head and trying not to smile, “Someone seems flattered but I think you have it the wrong way.”

“As in I’m the one doing the most to run into you? No, never,” Jungkook spoke dramatically, “This is all by chance. There’s no way I could’ve seen you from over there and decided to come and talk to you instead. That would make me seem desperate, wouldn’t it?”

“It would,” you agreed, slightly amused now as you broke into a small smile, “I didn’t take you as the type.”

“Well that’s because you haven’t tried to get to know me, I’m honestly a catch,” Jungkook joked lightly, following you where you walked off to, “Or are you scared?”

“Scared? Of what?” You asked, stopping abruptly and turning to face him with furrowed brows. He couldn’t help but smirk, “Oh I don’t know… getting to know someone new. You give me the vibe that you don’t like meeting new people.”

“I love meeting new people,” You exaggerated childishly, “When they don’t fall on top of me.”

“I caught myself, so let’s not lie now,” Jungkook snorted, “Besides, who’s the one who walked into the middle of a game?”

As he said that, the two of you seemed to have drifted far enough from where the fire had been going, that you found yourself not too far from one of the volleyball nets on the shore. Jungkook looked down at you with clear amusement as you looked up at the net and he walked up to the abandoned volleyball that sat in the sand.

“Do you eat, sleep, and breathe volleyball?” You jokingly asked, finally giving Jungkook some response that implied you were interested in him even slightly.

“Only on the weekends, sometimes around noon or after work if I’m free,” Jungkook told you, picking up the ball, “Do you play?”

“No,” you told him as he began to bounce the ball back and forth between his hands. You looked back at your friends who seemed preoccupied with whatever new friends they made for the night.

“It’s easy,” Jungkook said, “There’s really only one basic rule, don’t let the ball touch the ground.”

“Are you giving me a lesson now?” You asked with slight amusement as he moved to the other side of the net, “I’m warning you, I won’t be any good at it.”

“I’ll take it easy on you,” Jungkook tossed the ball your way and although you reached out to hit it, you missed and it landed a few feet behind you. He couldn’t help but laugh, “Okay, maybe you try and throw it.”

“But how do I throw it?” You looked up the tall net wondering how you would make it over. You held it up and tried doing a practice hit while he tried teaching you.

“Just try a simple serve, you can hit it from under or thro—“

“Oh my god,” you broke out into a nervous laugh as Jungkook covered his face with his hand. The ball sat at his feet, completely oblivious to the fact it had just pummeled straight into his face. You covered your mouth in an attempt to stop laughing but you were embarrassed and couldn’t do anything but try and laugh it off, “I’m so sorry.”

“Really? I can’t tell?” Jungkook said sarcastically, sounding eerily similar to you when you first met but still playful. In all honesty, the pain wasn’t too bad but it was humiliating and the only thing he could think about is how you’re trying not to laugh, “You think it’s funny?”

“No! No, I don’t, I just um,” you tried to stop, “I just…”

“You just what?” Jungkook looked at you, slowly making his way to your side and you inadvertently began to step back, worried he might actually be upset, “You like laughing at causing other people pain?”

“Did it actually hurt?” You asked with surprise, still stepping back the closer he got.

“My ego, yeah,” he joked, “And I feel like we need to get even.”

“We did, think about it as me getting back at you for the other day!” You tried to say, feeling the edge of the ride begin to touch your feet the farther you walked from him.

“Really? So this was all part of revenge?” Jungkook asked, “I don’t think so, I suggest you run.”

“What?” You stopped to think, “Jungk—“

And it began. He kicked water at you once the tide was close again and without thinking, you jumped back. You weren’t wearing a bathing suit or anything appropriate for the water so he can’t. You’re in a simple top and flowy, long skirt, not something you wanted wet, “Don’t you dare.”

“Why? Scared of a little water?” He tried to kick water again but this time you moved back in time and he smirked, “It’s better than getting hit in the face. Will you take care of me if I get a concussion?”

You scoffed, laughing, “Don’t you wis—Jungkook!”

He ran after you as you took off in a jog and before he knew it, you were splashing water back at him, not caring about how wet you got. The night was young and you were having a good time, there wasn’t much to worry about other than making sure you got Jungkook before he could get you.

Not far from where the two of you played in the ocean with the moon reflecting against the waves, a few pairs of eyes watched you unimpressed. Jimin didn’t have much to think about the matter, he just couldn’t understand it. Why would Jungkook waste his time on someone he didn’t even know?

Yeaun was right here desperate to have him back and instead he’s wandered off with some stranger acting childish. It doesn’t make sense, and neither does the big grin on Jungkook’s face once he caught you and tackled you into the low tide, both getting drenched in water.

“Jungkook!” He ignored the call of his name as he watched you shake sand out of your hair with curiosity. You looked annoyed even if you smiled and he knows you probably are considering he pushed you into the water but you’re not cussing him out yet. You’re not screaming at him for getting you into the water so maybe it was a good sign.

“Are we even now?” You asked breathlessly as you looked forward to where your friends were and turned away from Jungkook.

“I guess, for now at least,” He teased, walking toward Jimin, “It depends on if I bruise or not.”

“I didn’t hit you that hard,” you scoffed, smiling and shaking your head in disbelief. At some point in your ascend back up the shore, Jungkook got you to finally give him your number. You didn’t question when his friend approached him, going on about something you didn’t bother listening to and turned in search for someone you knew.

“You look like you need a towel,” someone said from your right. It took you a second to realize she was talking to you, much less holding out a clean towel for you.

“Thanks,” you said, trying to wipe off some of the sand with the beach towel the stranger handed to you. Hyeri was off talking with some guy and you had no clue where Hoseok was so as of now, you were on your own here. The girl was pretty and she seemed nice enough so you didn’t mind responding to her approach.

“I’m getting sand all over it,” you tried to make some sort of conversation, “Sorry, I’m Y/n.”

“Don’t even worry about it, I’m Yeaun,” She said with a smile, “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“Is it that obvious?” You asked, laughing lightly. Yeaun just shrugged as she got closer to you, “Not really, but, well… there’s just some people you should always avoid.”

Your brows began to furrow with confusion, “Like?”

“No, I don’t want to start anything,” she shook her head no, “We don’t know each other and you’ll probably think I’m meddling but… okay, Jeon Jungkook.”

You didn’t say anything to that as you tried to get a good look at the girl. Yeaun was pretty with sun-kissed skin and golden hair that shone under the moonlight. She seemed soft and glowed with a brightness that felt contagious but you didn’t know her. You don’t know why she brought up Jungkook or why she even approached you so you had nothing to say back to her.

“I just mean… you’re not from around here and you seem smart,” Yeaun said sympathetically, “Jungkook’s kind of a known player and I don’t want you to fall for his tricks, trust me, he’s not worth it.”

“Trust me, it’s not like that,” you said, suddenly disinterested in conversation with her and more focused on finding your friends, “Thanks for looking out for me though.”

Yeaun watched you walk away and not bother to turn back and she had to leave like it didn’t bother her to be brushed to the side. She can’t tell if you took what she said into consideration or if you couldn’t care less and she didn’t like that. She didn’t like that she didn’t know you and she didn’t know about your relationship with Jungkook or how you know him.

✧

His life was utterly perfect to anyone who thought about it. He had the bestest of friends, the closest family, the most money and a promising future. Everything he had ever wanted was handed right to him and in a sense, it made him arrogant. It was a given that he would end up that way and maybe that’s why he’s always surrounded himself with people of the like. He didn’t despise any of his friends, just sometimes, when he listened to the conversations they would have, he wanted to disagree.

“Yeaun said you’ve been avoiding her,” Jin said as he pulled a golf club out of his bag.

”Great, now you’re talking about her too?” Jungkook asked, lining his club up with a shiny white golf ball, “I already get enough of it from my parents and Jimin.”

“Well yeah, when you suddenly call off a year long engagement with someone you’ve known all your life, people question it,” Jin said, watching Jungkook swing the club back and shoot the ball into the air, “We’re worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” Jungkook mumbled, “Besides, there’s someone else, I don’t know if you know her, her name’s Y/n.”

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Jin shrugged, moving his visor down to block more of the summer sun out of his eyes. He wore white golfing gloves and a pair of Raybans, making him look straight out of a country club catalog.

Jungkook sighed, growing more restless by the minute. He’s only seen you on few occasions and he’s yet to leave a good impression on you where he can ask for your number or something, “She was hanging out with this guy, I know you know him but I can’t think of his name—you dated his sister.”

“Hoseok?” Jin asked, “I remember hearing about how he was in town. How do you know this isn’t his girlfriend you’re hitting on?”

“It’s not,” Jungkook said, “I don’t think. I don’t know.”

“But what about her?” Jin asked, hopping in the passenger’s side of the golf cart, “You don’t know a thing about the girl but you like her and you’re willing to throw away your future because of it.”

“I’m not throwing anything away,” Jungkook said with a scoff, “But whatever, you don’t get it.”

He spent the evening golfing on a private course not far from the beach where you wandered around with a book in hand.

You enjoyed passing time with your friends but sometimes, you just needed time to yourself and you would find yourself wandering off on your own without much care for anything else. Your friends didn’t mind when you went off and you always made sure to tell them where you would go so there was never any problem. Ever since you got here, you’ve been doing things on your own.

“I knew I would find you around here.”

You didn’t respond at first, still debating if the person was talking to you, but one look up told you he was. Although you wanted to resist the urge to smile, you couldn’t help it.

“Stalker,” You said with a small sigh, closing your book. He didn’t say anything as he took a seat down in the sand next to you. “You’re on my turf, remember? What are you reading by the way?”

You glanced at the cover of your book, “Nothing exciting—how’d you know I was here?”

“I looked for a dark, brooding figure and assumed it was you,” Jungkook joked, “And just an fyi, my face still hurts.”

“I’m sure you've been hit worse,” You said sarcastically, sitting up and watching him get comfortable. He was dressed in a light color linen button up and shorts, the first buttons were undone and a cliche shell necklace sat perfectly against his collarbone. He was attractive and you’ve thought so since the beginning but something was holding you back.

Did you really want to waste your time on a stranger you won’t know in a few months?

“What are you doing tonight?” He asks suddenly.

“Sleeping, hopefully,” you told him, a small smile when you noticed him roll his eyes.

“It’s the summer, the sun’s out, you live on the beach—don’t look at me like that, it’s a small town. Word gets around when a new person shows up,” Jungkook said with a shrug, knowing it’s him who had been asking about you.

“You’re just solidifying my stalker allegations, should I report you?” You asked, laughing slightly.

“I’ll have you know, a lot of people would love to be stalked by me, you should feel flattered,” He nudged your knee with his.

“What? Like it’s hard? Word gets around,” You said to him, “I’ve already been warned about getting too close to you.”

Jungkook let his brows furrow as he took in what you said but it didn’t take long for it to dawn on him. As much as he wanted to act like there was no way his ex girlfriend would approach you, he knew her too well. Who else would talk down on him? Who else would feel threatened when he ignores them? What does she think she gains from telling you to stay away from him? Isn’t it his decision who he approaches and does she think you’re just going to fall in line like everyone else does?

This is the sort of thing that pisses him off. He’s not a bad guy at all, he doesn’t sleep around, he focuses on his goals, he has fun with his friends… so why?

“But if it makes you feel any better, I’m not very good at listening to what I’m told,” You finally said, standing up with your book in hand and pulling the sand-covered towel, “And I’m starving, so where’s a good place to eat around here?”

As much as he wanted to act like the cool guy and seem indifferent, he couldn’t help but break out into a grin. Without wasting another second, he got up and motioned to carry your things, “There’s a good food shack on the boardwalk. I guess I could show you around.”

“If it isn’t too much of a hassle,” You said playfully, handing him your things.

“So, I want to know, what’s a big city girl like yourself doing all the way over here?” He asked on the way up, “Or do you still want to play at being mysterious?”

You rolled your eyes, “I don't usually play games like that, I think you’ve got me confused with someone else. I just don’t talk if I have nothing to say.”

“Interesting take, I personally never know when to shut up,” Jungkook smiled, pointing up to the restaurant and walking in behind you, “But seriously, usually the tourists come to pollute our water and get away.”

“Are you always so observant? You give me the vibe that you like to watch other people,” You told him, sitting down at a high round table across from him.

“And you give me the vibe that you hate talking about yourself. Why else would you avoid every question I ask?” He asked, raising a brow making you scoff but you couldn’t deny it. When the server brought out your menus, she made sure to greet Jungkook like old friends.

“Do you really care to know?” You asked quietly.

“Why else would I ask? I’m not pretending to be interested, if that’s what you think,” Jungkook said honestly.

You didn’t say anything for a moment, looking down at the menu contemplating what to order and what to say, “Things were getting a little too complicated back home and my friend asked if I wanted to pack up my things and follow him down for the summer and I said yes.”

“How broad,” Jungkook said with a small smile, lifting a brow and waiting to see if you would add to it.

“It’s the truth,” you shrugged.

“What was complicated?” Jungkook asked.

He looked amused when you narrowed your eyes in response to his probing. “Adulting.”

“You’ll figure it out,” Jungkook shrugged, waiting for the server to come back to take your orders. He let you order first, watching the server give you a look as she listened and followed after with his own.

“How wise of you to say. What about you?” You asked him, handing the menus back and sliding your drink closer to you.

Jungkook distracted himself playing with the wrapper of his straw and shrugged, “What about me? We’ll get to me when you give me the juicy details.”

You couldn’t help but scoff, looking out the window to the view of the waves crashing against the shore, “What? I told you everything.”

He chuckled, “Barely.”

Rolling your eyes, “Rude.”

“Really?” He asked, biting back a smile.

“No. You’re actually pretty nice,” once again, you sighed, as if admitting that was hard for you.

“Nice? That’s what you tell a guy when you’re going to reject him. I just want to know more about you but there’s not much I can go with. How long are you staying?” Jungkook finally asked you.

“A couple months, are you already dreading it when I leave?” You asked, sounding sarcastic and amused.

“Maybe, you’ve left an impression despite what you might think. Crushing you under my incredible physique was destiny.” He could tell you wanted to laugh but were refusing to do so.

“Corny.”

“Funny.” He crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back in his chair and making it known that he was going to wait for you however long it took.

“I had this bad roommate situation I couldn’t take anymore and my lease doesn’t end for another two months so when Hobi asked me to come with I jumped at the chance. I left my job because it’s draining me and I felt useless so I figured it’d be easier to run away to the beach and deal with it all later. Happy? I was honest.” You rushed the words, half-assed the pace.

It was his turn to narrow his eyes suspiciously but gave in, “Content. You’ll figure it out, you don’t seem like the type to wait around for things to fix themselves.”

“Really? Because that feels like what I’m doing right now. I’m all the way over here where I haven’t done anything but run into this strange guy at the beach who I think might be stalking me,” You said, joking at the end.

“No, right now you’re trying to live in the moment, nothing wrong with that,” he chuckled, ignoring your joke.

You don’t remember much of what you said to him but for some reason Jungkook was very easy to talk to. Maybe it’s because you don’t really know him or expect anything from him at all but he got you too open up to him like you’ve known him for years. In reality you didn’t know anything about him or anyone here for that matter.

“Okay, okay, enough about me. It’s your turn,” you had finally said between mouthfuls of whatever the two of you ordered and Jungkook couldn’t avoid it any longer.

“Alright, I’m… also trying to figure things out on my own. I’m used to being with certain people and doing certain things and I don’t know, at one point I kind of got fed up with everything being so predictable. I want to meet people on my own and not because they know who I am or something,” He rushed his words, “If I could, I’d move far away from here but right now I don’t think that’s an option so I settle for next best and stick it out. In all honesty, everything’s kind of been a bore until I met you, you’re different.”

You raised a brow, mirroring his earlier stance and crossing your arms over your chest, unamused, “How?”

He smirked, “I don’t know yet, I can just tell.”

You never believe a guy when he goes on about how different you are from other girls because usually they’re just full of shit. You’re not good at picking the right person so it makes you wary to believe anything he says despite how good he looks saying it.

By the time the bill came, the server made sure to sit it without checking if that’s what either of you wanted but you didn’t hesitate to reach for yours. Jungkook snatched the small slip out of your hand and hurried the server back so he could pay for it in full, giving her a tight smile, “Just one check, thanks.”

“Sure thing,” she said with a light scoff that had you looking after her with furrowed brows. Something about the way she acted left you feeling confused.

“What a good first date.” Jungkook said at the end, walking outside with you.

“This wasn’t a date,” you teased, thanking him for the meal nevertheless, “But I should probably call it a night, y’know.”

“Oh yeah, me too,” Jungkook shrugged “But if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, we should see each other again.”

“Hm, I’ll think about it,” You said playfully, “If I’m not busy.”

“You won’t be,” He smirked, bumping your shoulder with his as the walk turned bumpy and more trail-like as he walked you home, “But why don’t you give me your number and we can talk about it more on the phone.”

“Hah, smooth guy, aren’t you?” You asked, taking his phone and typing your number in. When you got to the soft trail of greenery and sand that led up to the backyard of the beach house.

“How about we watch the last few minutes of the sun set together,” he reached for your head and stopped you before you could head up the wooden steps.

“How about you don’t kidnap my friend for the whole evening!” Hoseok shouted suddenly, tripping over his own feet as he ran out the sliding glass door that led to the pool deck, “I’ve been worried sick about Y/n.”

“Not true, he’s been sleeping!” Hyeri yelled after him, “But you’re the guy who tackled my best friend on our first day here.”

“My reputation precedes me,” Jungkook held his hands up in surrender, “I’m Jungkook. I was just asking if you guys wanted to join us and watch the sun set.”

“How aesthetic, let me grab some bottles of Soju.”

Your attempt to end your time with Jungkook failed and he seemed pleased with himself for that. He was also polite enough to try and get to know your friends too.

✧

He was having a crisis, he thinks. A real life identity crisis because for the first time in his life he thinks he likes someone—in a way he’s never liked anyone before. It’s pathetic and makes him feel so stupid because he barely knows anything about you but it’s the truth. If anything that’s what makes him like you so much. He likes that he can’t tell what you’ll say or how you’ll react to him, it’s exciting.

He just wants to know if he’s on your mind too.

“We’re still on for this weekend right?”

“What are we doing again?” The road ahead was a scenic path between mountain and sea that led all the way to this private property of his childhood home.

“Chae-hi’s birthday trip.” Jimin spoke from the passenger’s seat of the black pick-up truck his best friend paraded in when he wasn’t on his dirtbike.

“Oh, yeah I’m not going. I was thinking of taking Y/n sailing,” Jungkook said with a small smile, looking sideways, unable to miss the way Jimin stiffened and went silent. He looked back to the road, hand tightening around the steering wheel slightly, “What?”

“Nothing,” Jimin scoffed, looking out the window annoyed now. The drive was silent for a while, nothing but the low sound of music and wind blowing through the topless truck.

“What’s up with you lately?” He finally asked, “You barely know the girl and she’s all you talk about. We’ve had plans to go with everyone.”

By everyone he meant their mutual friends—not just his ex and her friend—which made things worse. He’s known them all for years and it’s hard to see them when he wants to move on and do his own thing. Jungkook tried not to let Jimin’s tone ruin his mood and sighed, “Sorry, man, but I’m not going. Are we playing later or what?”

“You sure you’re not busy with your new friends?” Jimin asked, remembering about the night Jungkook had dinner with you. He tried calling him that night to see if he wanted to go out for drinks just to be rejected because Jungkook was too busy with you and your friends.

Jungkook chuckled, “Don’t be jealous, you’ll always be first in my heart.”

“Oh fuck off,” Jimin rolled his eyes, trying to not sound bitter as he asked, “What’s your girl doing anyway?”

“Y/n’s not my girl—yet, I don’t know. She hasn’t texted back,” Jungkook said worriedly, making Jimin stare at him strangely.

It’s not that he had anything against you personally, he just doesn’t get it. You’re a complete stranger who won’t stick around so why has his best friend chosen to hang out with you so much recently. What did you have over the people he’s known all his life? What do you bring to the table?

What did you gain from being around Jungkook?

You couldn’t explain it either. All you really knew was that a cute guy who sort of annoyed you in the beginning was starting to rub off on you. You’ve come to enjoy running into him and forcing yourself to open up because he’ll listen. It made you feel weird in a good way. You wanted to think about how fun it was to be around him and ignore all the worries you’ve had recently.

Even with your close friends, you’ve long since stopped talking about the people you were interested in. It wasn’t because you didn’t trust them or want their advice but sometimes you didn’t feel the need to say anything—especially if it was harmless fun. That’s why when Hyeri approached you about Jungkook, you weren’t sure what to say.

“It’s no fair,” Hyeri picked through a crate of strawberries, dropping them into a basket, “I wanted to find a little beach boyfriend, why’d you get lucky instead.”

“What are you talking about?” You asked dumbly, following her down the aisle of produce at the farmer’s market.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” Hyeri said accusingly, “Jungkook.”

“We’re just hanging out,” You said with a shrug that made her laugh, pushing her sunglasses into her hairline. You knocked against one end of a green watermelon, hoisting it in your hands and continuing past her.

“Right, is that what you called your date the other night? Just a nice early dinner with a hot guy who asked to watch the sunset with you?” She said playfully, “You like him, don’t you.”

“I don’t know him,” You insisted. Yes, you’ve talked a lot with Jungkook recently and you’ve begun to talk about real things in your lives but did that really mean anything? “Besides, in a month and a half I’ll be in my new place settling back into the old routine. It’s just fun hanging out with him, nothing more, it’d be too complicated.”

“Whatever you say,” Hyeri sighed.

You’re lying, obviously you’re lying because you do sort of like him but you didn’t want to think about it. You didn’t want to think about what you could become, you only want to think about now and how things progress. Whatever happens, happens. That’s it. Could you pretend like you have no worries aside from who you’ll run into on the beach instead?

When your phone rang, you knew immediately who it could’ve been and although Hyeri walked ahead, acting like she couldn’t hear it, she was clearly listening. When you answered Jungkook’s call, he was quick to ask about your plans for the upcoming weekend.

✧

“You want to take me sailing?”

Despite the early hours where the sun has yet to shine through, you still couldn’t wrap your mind around it. Even walking along the dock following after Jungkook who led the way through the darkness of the starry sky. “Or are you plotting my murder?”

“Which would you prefer I do?” He asked teasingly, looking back at you with a grin, “But seriously, it’ll be fun.”

Fun wasn’t waking up before the sun did, nor was it following a man you barely know out to the sea. If it weren’t for Hyeri begging you to take up his offer, you wouldn’t be here right now.

The sailing yacht was bigger than you expected with a small cabin area below deck to sleep and wash up in. You’ve never been on a sailboat before but you didn’t think they would look this nice and clean.

“This is yours?” You asked, watching him put in the arm work to undo the rope that tied the boat to the dock.

“Um, yeah,” Jungkook answered blandly, “Kinda?”

“Kinda?”

“Yeah, it’s mine,” he cleared his throat, helping you carry your bag down to the room before bringing you back up to the galley, “I used to be on a sailing team when I was in school and after I graduated I got this for my friends and I.”

“Nice,” You looked around, still in shock at the size of the sails. It was a Beneteau Oceanis 48 with such a sleek, clean look you were scared to sit on any part of it. You wanted to ask how much it was but resisted the urge to, scared you’d sound rude.

Still half asleep, you watched Jungkook set sail behind the wheel, his jacket already off and the sleeves of his linen shirt.

“Sleep a little, we’ve got time,” he said lastly.

It went easy between you two, you felt comfortable and for some reason safe with him enough to letyourself relax around him. You can't remember falling asleep but at some point you had and when you were woken up it was with him dropping anchor in the middle of the open sea.

The waves were calm, breathtaking deep blue and you could see the line of gold separating the ocean from the sky. It was beginning to warm up but you still shivered in your thin sweater, looking up feeling awestruck by the view.

"Look who's finally awake," Jungkook said softly as he secured the wheel and came over to where you sat. He grabbed his jacket — that he had grown too hot for — and placed it over your front. You took in the light scent of his cologne that lingered on the Northface and thanked him, "You said I could sleep."

"I know," he sat across from you, looking at you with a gentle look on his eyes, "I did wake you up pretty early, but look at the view. Do you like it?"

"Yeah, it's nice," You leaned against the edge of the seat, staring down at the dark navy blue water, almost catching your reflection in it. The line of gold was beginning to widen and a circle of light was bouncing off the ocean beautifully. "If you plan on pushing me over the edge, now's the time."

"You're dumb," he laughed, kicking your foot with his playfully. You smiled, trying not to laugh as you looked at him, "Aren't you cold?"

"No, it's hard work getting a sail boat out and I was starting to sweat," Jungkook lifted an arm, flexing it, "But these guns never fail me."

"That's too bad, I was hoping you'd want to keep me warm but I don't want you to overheat," You teased, looking at him invitingly and his eyes shifted to the open space next to you. To set it off, you even winked.

"You know what, now that you mention it, being surrounded by this sea breeze is making me a little chilly," Jungkook pretended to shiver as he got up.

"The sun's rising, I'm sure you'll warm up again really soon," You said as he sat next to you, touching your leg and making you put it on his lap.

"Who knows, I'm suddenly freezing, come closer," he rested his arm on the back of your seat, pulling you onto his lap, "I heard body heat is good to warm up."

"You can always just put your jacket on," You pretended to argue making him roll your eyes, almost sassily.

"But you look so much better in it," He brushed hair out of your face that the wind blew over, finger softly tracing the side of your face.

"I hate to admit this but... you're too good to be true," You said honestly, shifting your gaze away, "Like, too perfect."

"But I'm not," Jungkook argued quietly, "I'm just... I don't know, I'm not acting like myself—or maybe I am and haven't realized it but I think it's you. I want to impress you."

You didn't know how to respond but he didn't mind. He was more focused on the soft glimmer in your eye as you watched the sky turn a powder blue with orange, hearing the seagulls and light whooshing sound of the sails.

It's bad how affected you're leaving him and you don't even know it.

"Y/n," Jungkook tried getting your attention again, leaned his head against your shoulder. You didn't have to say anything to know what he was asking. The first soft brush of his lips against your jaw had you succumbing to his effect. He tilted your chin with the tip of his fingers, catching your lips with his, finally.

How do you describe it?

How do you explain how soft and tender his lips felt? How his fingers grazing your skin sent a shiver down your spine and how he was surprisingly very loving with his affection?

This man who you barely knew and trusted too much was making you melt in his arms, kissing you and making it feel like you've never been kissed before.

"This is bad," he mumbled against your lips, pulling back to catch his breath, eyes still closed, "I really like you."

You gave him one quick peck of a kiss, sitting up, "Tell me all about it then."

Jungkook couldn't he'll but crack a grin, licking the taste of you off his lips. He wouldn't be able to shut up if he did.

You're beautiful, stunning, truly.

Even with your face in sand or your hair a mess, a scowl or pout, just beautiful to him. It was so stupid for him to be swayed by that but it's obviously what pulled him in first.

You were so mean—he thought, at least—but it never stopped him from approaching you. It's like he knew it wasn't your intention to come off so cold and when you'd joke back with him, he could see the hint of mischief in your eyes. It made him want to push your buttons or say something he knew would get a reaction from you.

You're different and he wishes it didn't sound so stupid like he knew you would think if he ever told you but you are. You're like no one he's met—really met, beyond surface level interests or habits. You responded differently, looked at him differently, treated him different.

"I won't shut up if I do," he said honestly, "Can't I just show you, instead?"

"How suggestive," you giggled, letting him kiss you again. There was more force to it this time, like he really meant it. The first one was firm and teasing, really testing the waters when his hand disappeared into your hair to keep you from pulling away.

You were spending the golden hour of the late sunrise with Jungkook sailing on a boat in the ocean. The view was amazing and his lips were so soft.

His lip ring is surprisingly warm when it brushes your lips, and his tongue feels slick against yours. He held you closely making you feel secure and safe [?], and at one point you made it onto his lap, practically straddling him.

You pressed closer to him eagerly and the movement makes his hands travel toward your hips for support, his jacket long forgotten on the floor. The seat was hard underneath him but if he mentioned it you might pull away and that's the last thing he wanted in the moment. Jungkook liked kissing you, he liked feeling your lips trail down his jaw and toward his neck where you didn't shy away from leaving open mouth kissed against his Adam's apple or under his ear.

"Y/n—" his hands circled around you tighter, "Have you gotten a good look at the cabin?"

Your brows furrowed momentarily, looking down the short steps to the cabin door where a big bed was seen through the window, "No, want to show me?"

You began to get up from Jungkook's lap, making his hands slide off down your hip, leading you to the cabin.

Jungkook wasn’t as subtle as he hoped to be when he pressed you into his chest, peppering your shoulder with light and teasing kisses taking you further into the room. A small smile played on your lips when you turned to face him, circling your arms around his neck.

He didn’t question it when you walked him toward the bed instead, making him sit down as you kissed and straddling him once more. You were a good kissed and Jungkook could attest to that by the way your tongue slid between his lips to seek his out. It was a surprise for you to be so forward with him but he wasn’t complaining at all. If anything it made him want to take it further. He wasn’t shy with his touches anymore and you could feel his hands circle down to your butt, pressing you firmly into his lap.

It was hard to ignore his arousal from your simple make-out. It was evident in his shorts and it made you want to keep going. You began to rock your hips against him lightly, feeling his growing bulge apply pressure between your legs.

“Can we get this off?” Jungkook asked about your jacket first, feeling you miles away and when you unzipped it, you pulled off your shirt too leaving him breathless, “You’re bolder than I thought.”

“Is that a bad thing?” You asked, watching his fingers trace down your bare sides, looking at your bra and chest. His finger hooked into the hem of your jeans as if to teasingly ask if they can come off next and you gave him the go ahead, starting to unbutton his shirt for him.

“Never,” he sighed, eyes closing when your hands touched his muscular chest. His hands snuck under her jeans playing with your underwear and grinding your hips against his worn more purpose drawing out a small groan in the process.

When your hips began to move on their own, teasing his aching member, he leaned forward to kiss along your neck, finding your pulse points with ease and reaching behind you for the clasp of your bra to get it off next.

Your arms circled his neck, hugging his head close to feel his lips on your skin and moved your hips with more determined rhythm. You’d be lying if you said his kisses weren’t turning you on and sending shivers down your spine. Jungkook slid your bra off letting it hit the floor while you wrestled his opened shirt off his shoulders and hugged him in a kiss.

“You’re so sexy,” Jungkook whispered, kissing the soft mound of your breasts, “Even when I had you in the ground covered in sand that’s all I could think about.”

“And here I thought it was my personality that drew you in,” You teased, letting him finally turn you on your back beneath him. He pulled your jeans off leaving you in your small slither of panty.

“Trust me, it did,” Jungkook said, kissing along your thighs, “Hurt my feelings that the pretty girl from the beach couldn’t care less about me.”

“A real shot to your ego,” you raised your knees

Jungkook leaned forward to catch your lips in a kiss, hovering over your body, “It really was.”

A small gasp left your lips as you felt his hand trace down the curve of your sides, slipping into your underwear and feeling the soft slope of your nether region. Your thighs parted more, letting his finger tease your clit.

“I wasn’t too impressed in the beginning,” You joked, lifting your hips when you felt his finger begin to feel around your folds, surely finding where the slick began to puddle. He used the wetness to coat your clit, raising a light sigh from your lips there he swallowed in a kiss.

“I’m well aware,” Jungkook whispered against your lips. You rose your hips to meet his hand, finding some stimulation that made your body respond with raise bumps in pleasure, “What about now?”

As he asked, his coated middle finger finally pressed into your wet cunt, with his palm against your clit and grinding into it as he pushed his finger into the hilt. You dug your nails into his tatted forearm to ground yourself against the sudden feeling and holding back the loud moan that almost slipped. He smiled, clearly amused by your reaction. He maneuvered his hand around so his thumb could find your clit and with it covered in your arousal it made the slide so much easier.

Jungkook’s long finger slide into your pussy with slight restriction, curling when he pushed all the way in and finding that sweet spot that had your breath hitching and probing at it. You were at a loss for words and he loved it, it made him want to kiss you as he brought you pleasure with just his hand. He wasn’t even asking for a response anymore, he was just trying to tell you how he’s felt while he makes you feel good on an expensive sail boat in the sea.

The sunrise had long been forgotten and replaced by the thought of how good he made you feel and he was happy about that.

"Oh, fuck." You gasped, gripping his armas he hooks his finger at just the right angle. You didn’t even have to tell him that was the spot that made your toes curl, it’s like he just knew it.

"Like it?" He asked, repeating his previous action, kissing along your neck for added stimulation.

He could feel you on edge of orgasm by the way you pinched his arm but he didn’t care about the slight sting. He cared more for the glazed look in your eyes, walls tightening around his finger.

It’s like he knew exactly when the last push would be, and his pace grew more rough, ready to get you there and finally your body gave way to pleasure.

“Pretty,” Jungkook said softly, feeling your release around his hand, letting you ride out your high and pulling his hand back when you were ready. Your breathing was shallow and the sight of your breasts falling and rising with each breath was hypnotizing. When he pulled back, he couldn’t stand the constriction of his shorts anymore. Without thinking, he licked your release off his hand before yanking his shorts down along with his usual Calvin Kleins.

Jungkook didn’t say he was ready to go further, but you could tell just by the way his cock sprung free from its confines. It was pretty and long, not too think nor skinny and fit his physique perfectly. He stroked himself here and there for some friction but didn’t hurry you along. Instead, he let you catch your breath as he watched in awe at the fact that he had you in bed with him.

“Come here,” you motioned for him to come closer with your index finger and sat up, fully naked before him and getting him in the bed with you. Jungkook followed in a trance, kissing you thoughtlessly and nearly biting your lip in surprise when your fingers touched the tip of his dick, feeling the pre-cum that leaked from the slit.

You barely had your hand wrapped around his pretty cock, giving him a small jerk up his length when his fingers circled around your waist to stop you, “Not tonight.”

You tried to read the expression in his eyes but he just kissed you lovingly, “I want to feel you, all of you.”

“What a giver,” You said playfully, kissing the tip of his nose and laying back with him following after you. He held your legs apart, lining his cock at your entrance, “Can I? I’ll pull out.”

You gave a nod of your head, looking down as his cock pressed forward, aching to feel the tightness of your wet walls hugging him.

You’re not sure what came over you then, but the feel of his dick pushing past your entrance made you feel bold. Your leg hooked around his waist, pulling him forward and watching how his jaw went slack. Jungkook looked down at how eagerly you took him and his arms nearly gave out, eyes rolling as he processed the sudden pleasure.

You still needed a moment to adjust to his size and he practically fused himself to your body, trapping you beneath his muscular figure, “Fuck.”

His movements were slow at first, thrusting gently to find what felt good and what didn’t, running gentle hands over your breasts so he could feel the fullness of them. When he thrusted his hard length in, his thumbs were circled your nipples, pulling his cock out and pinching at them. Something about the leg you had around him drove him wild, feeling your territoriality over him even if there was a chance it meant nothing.

“Jungkook,” you moaned softly at a particularly harsh thrust, scratching at his back unintentionally, “Feels good.”

Something was happening inside of him that he couldn’t explain. He wanted to say things he shouldn’t, things that were too soon to admit and he had to bite his tongue to stop himself. The only other way he could stop himself from sounding like a fool was with his mouth on you and the closest thing to him were your perky nipples.

Jungkook never slowed the steady pace he set fucking you but with the added pleasure to your chest, his tongue circling around your nipple and sucking lightly, had you seeing stars. You’d nearly forgotten where you were till you looked out the windows, seeing the clear sky and the pretty water making this all feel more surreal.

Jungkook hugged you close, hand gripping your thigh and inching it higher around himself as he fucked you rougher, taking pleasure in bringing you close again and this time around he couldn’t bother being as gentle. He wanted to, he swears, but he’s so turned on by you that he couldn’t be patient at all. You didn’t even seem to mind when his hips slammed into yours, turning you to lay on your side, fucking yourself on his cock with more vigor knowing he needed release too, and let him manhandle you however he wanted. His free hand snuck into your hair, pulling slightly when he dragged you into another kiss and groaned against your lips.

Neither of you had to say anything to know you were both close, and it made you impatient. You moaned at the roughness, letting yourself get lost in the feeling unripe you couldn’t take it anymore, once again cumming with little control of yourself. He held you so roughly to his body, not letting you go as you struggled to catch your breath and you knew it was taking everything in him to not let go inside you. That’s the only thing that had you pushing away from him, trying to sneak a hand down to touch him but the second you did, his cock spilled thick cum into your hand, creamy and white. You wanted a taste badly.

Jungkook moaned your name quietly, feeling pathetic to cum so easily by your hand but he couldn’t hold back anymore. It took him longer to bounce back than you, and when he opened his eyes he caught you pressing a finger to your tongue, taking a small taste that left him shuddering.

“Don’t do that,” his voice said, raspy and tired tone.

“You did it to me,” You said, licking your finger clean, “And you made a mess.”

“Sorry,” he couldn’t help but pout, looking surprisingly cute to you even with his hair a sweaty mess and the afterglow of sex on his naked body, “Kiss?”

A grin spreads over his face when you lean in to kiss him, happily kissing you back more gently now.

“Would I sound wimpy if I said I needed a nap?” It pained him to even ask but he was suddenly so tired and relaxed in your arms. It made him feel unmanly to even think to ask but he couldn’t help it, he could lay in bed all day with you if it was an option, “We can worry about breakfast later—perhaps when it’s consider lunch or an afternoon snack.”

You laughed softly, snuggling into him further, “Let me at least clean up a little and then we can sleep for as long as you want.”

Jungkook smiled happily, letting you leave to the bathroom as he hurriedly tugged the bedding off. He wasn’t too worried about the boat, knowing he properly set anchor and the water was calm today. If anything the light rocking of the boat could lull him to sleep if you were in his arms.

“Are you sick of me yet?” Jungkook asked, watching you drift in and out of sleep as he drove away from the shipping dock. It was the evening and the hours spent in the open sun was exhausting, even with how sweet it felt. At least he thinks you might feel that way.

If he were being honest, he could still be with you longer. There hadn’t been enough hours in the day for him, “Or do you think we could still get dinner?”

“We can, but I need a shower, I’m sticky and sweaty,” You said absentmindedly, catching the way he bit his lip with a smirk that had you smacking his arm, “Don’t be gross.”

“I didn’t say anything,” He laughed, grinning as he thought about the way you said his name when you were naked in his arms, “But, I want to take you to my family home. My parents are gone for the weekend and it’s closer than my apartment.”

“Are you hiding your apartment from me?” You asked jokingly.

“No, but I live with Jimin and I want to be selfish and have you to myself longer so your place is out of the question too,” Jungkook admitted.

“And what am I supposed to wear? I didn’t really pack clothes,” You looked down at his linen shirt you currently wore, only panties underneath thinking you’d be going home after the eventful day.

“Something mine, you look good in what’s mine,” Jungkook said with a wink, “I’ll make us something nice—maybe get something ordered…”

“Oh I guess.”

You didn’t question the drive away from the houses lining the beach in his pick up truck. You stared out the window and watched the view turn more scenic would hillsides and small rocky edges, more nature-esque.

Songs played quietly that Jungkook would sometimes hum along too with a perfect pitch that had looking over at him from time to time. When he would catch you looking, he’d stop immediately and tighten his hands over the steering wheel.

He was nervous.

His family home was empty and he could go to it whenever he pleased but did he really want to bring you along? Open up another side of himself just for a few more moments alone? Did you mean this much to him?

Swallowing his nerves, he turned down a private road with tall trees and white gravel. It stretched on for a mile before ending at private gates. You sat up, slightly more aware of what was going on when he lowered his window to type in some code, hearing someone speak through an intercom, ‘Welcome home, sir.’

He could feel your eyes on him and he just smiled, “Wash up first?”

“Please,” You said, looking away, staring straight ahead at the colonial house that appeared in view. It was obscenely large with endless windows and greenery surrounding it making it all the more intimidating.

This is his family home, yours couldn’t compare.

Still, you tried not to question it.

Jungkook didn’t bother driving back to the private garage, he pulled up to the circular driveway by the fountain of a water nymph and got out of his truck, opening the door for you. It should’ve dawned on him that something was going to happen. The lights were on when no one should be home.

Still, he’s already brought you this far.

“Jungkook?”

His hand stopped at the handle of your door, just barely pulling it open but with little room for you to step out. You stopped moving instantly, watching the way he visibly stiffened, face hardening as he looked off to the distance.

“You’re here, what a surprise.”

“Mom,” he turned around immediately, “I thought you guys weren’t home.”

“Well, if you would answer the phone, when I call, you would know your father’s trip was canceled,” a women in a tweed Chanel suit and a tight smile stepped down from the entrance, “You’ve brought company?”

As if being summoned, Jungkook looked at you, motioning for you to step out and although you didn’t want you, you did—undressed and exhausted. The woman was stunning and classy like you’d never seen, somewhat taken back that she was the mother of the beach boy you’ve met.

Not to mention, it was too early to meet anyone’s parents. It made you sick to your stomach even as you smiled politely, “Hello.”

“This is Y/n,” Jungkook reached for your hand, “We were just stopping by.”

“When you thought no one was home?” She asked, making you look at him. He was grown, clearly, but still scolded and questioned like a child.

Jungkook didn’t say anything but you could feel him squeeze your hand when her eyes traveled over your barely dressed figure. He at least had on a t-shirt that was in his truck and his shorts.

“Why don’t the two of you clean up, we’re having dinner on the terrace,” She said looking unimpressed, “I’ll have a maid find you something more appropriate.”

“Oh, we don’t want to bo—“

“We have guests so don’t make a scene, I already had to make an excuse for why you wouldn’t be here, you can’t leave now. Even if you do have sudden company.”

That shut Jungkook up quicker than you’d ever seen. It wasn’t that you couldn’t catch on to what was happening, but more so you could wrap your mind around the reality of it. You moved almost as robotically as he did, sneaking into the house unsure what was going on aside from doing as told. He took you into his bedroom, pulling you in the bathroom with him and washing up. His entire demeanor changed and you didn’t know what to do.

“Should I go? I could probably get Hoseok to get me,” You told him honestly. You weren’t upset — not yet. As far as you knew, Jungkook might have a complicated relationship with his parents meeting the person he’s sleeping with, especially considering how recent things are with you. Neither of you are ready to meet the family, it’s just fun summer things. You’d say the biggest shock was that Jungkook seemed to be wealthy and likes to keep that private but does that make you worried?

“No, I want you here with me,” Jungkook said, swallowing hard and opening the door to his room, finding something folded on the edge of his bed. He handed it to you without much thought as he got dressed.

It was nothing crazy, just a light colored sundress and you had to dry off quickly so you could join him downstairs. Part of you wanted to call your friends but what would it mean if you did?

“What a surprise, brother, and I see you’ve finally brought someone new along,” an arrogant voice spoke up from the large dinner table on the terrace. It was a candle lit dinner with six guests aside from the two of you and you immediately reconciled a familiar face.

“Hello, sorry for keeping everyone waiting,” Jungkook said stiffly, “This is Y/n.”

“We’ve met,” Yeaun said when the others looked at you confused. Their greetings were bland and uncaring but you tried not to think too hard on it, “On the beach, right?”

“Yes, I remember,” You tried to smile, looking at Jungkook just as confused as everyone.

“Yeaun is a family friend,” Jungkook explained to you.

“An ex-fiancée,” His mother said coldly, making him freeze.

Why was she saying this?

“Darling,” an older version of Jungkook with salt and pepper hair said to his wife in warning.

“We’re on good terms though,” Yeaun smiled tightly, “Things have been changing recently, haven’t they?”

She asked you like you would know—like you were the reason for it but you were too stuck on what she was to care.

Ex-what?

“So, are you still going with the firm?” A woman sitting next to his brother said to him. That made his brother laugh, “He’s still playing around Jin’s auto shop.”

“Is everyone already eating? What about us?” Jungkook looked at you suddenly, “Should we get served?”

The firm? What firm? What fiancée? What was going on?

“Y/n, what about you? Are you new in town? Who are your parents?” The dad asked, making all heads turn toward you, a member of who you assumed was house staff, began to serve you and Jungkook dinner.

“Dad,” Jungkook tried to say but he didn’t get very far.

“I’m just here for the summer, I’m from the city,” You told him with a smile.

“How’d you meet?” Jungkook’s mother asked.

“On the beach,” You told her plainly. She didn’t say anything in response but you could feel the way her eyes narrowed at you like she was trying to read you. You weren’t lying or anything but it felt like she didn’t believe you. Under the table, Jungkook’s hand touched your thigh but in all honesty you didn’t even want him to touch you. It’s not anything serious, you were just confused and uncomfortable in this situation. He should’ve just taken you home or let you call Hoseok.

“A city girl, huh? You must have a big job, right? What do you do?” His brother asked.

“I’m in between work right now,” You said honestly, just as you had told Jungkook who seemed to be open to that idea and understood why. Sometimes, doing the same routine in a career you didn’t have passion anymore left you drained and you needed a change of pace. You explained this to him and he made it all feel okay so why were you being looked at strangely?

“So wasting your time over here is what you want to be doing?” His mom asked.

Jungkook took a deep breath, wanting to speak up but unsure how to do so. He obviously hasn’t told you anything but his relationship with his family is complicated. The added guests made it all the worse. Has he always been such a coward?

“That’s what it seems like,” You said bitterly, looking over at Jungkook with a cold expression.

You don’t remember much of the rest of dinner, only that you hated every second of it and how you just wanted to go home. You checked out of all conversations after a while and watched the tension between them with little interest. What you’ve learned is that Jungkook is good at keeping things from others even when he begs to know more himself.

The irony, it was annoying. By the end of dinner, you didn’t care to know what any of them had to say, much less Yeaun who everyone continued to remind you was his ex that they all loved dearly. They were saying it for a reason, like if you wanted to take her place and be with Jungkook who belonged to a group of people who won’t let outsiders in.

“Well at least she’s pretty,” you remember being told.

“I’m sorry,” was the first thing Jungkook said after dinner but you didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead, you led the way to his truck so he could take you home.

The car ride was so eerily silent that it felt deafening. He tried and tried to talk to you but you just ignored him, not caring at all for whatever might come out of his mouth and he can’t really blame you.

“You lied to me,” You said finally, staring holes into his dashboard.

“I didn’t mean to,” Jungkook admitted, “Everything I’ve said to you is true.”

You scoffed, rolling your eyes and looking out the dark window, “Just take me home.”

“Y/n,” Jungkook reached across the middle console for your hand but you crossed your arms over your chest and shifted away from him even more, “I’m sorry, we should’ve just gone somewhere el—“

“Look, it was never going to work out anyway so just take me home and we can both go on with our lives because clearly we’re nothing alike at all,” You said bitterly, “I was just dumb enough to believe we are. It’s been a long day.”

He wanted to argue but for the first time since he’s met you, he’s left silent. He’s a coward, he’s aware of that now and it felt sickening to realize it finally. He’s always been the type to do what he’s told, follow the plan his parents have set out for him and this is the first time he’s realizing how much he hates it.

When the truck pulled up to the front of your house, he began to unbuckle his belt, quietly saying, “I’ll walk you to the d—“

The car door slammed shut in the middle of his words and although he knew it was better for him to give you space, he just couldn’t. He couldn’t let you walk off on him without trying to really hear him out—just let him get his thoughts together. As pathetic as it sounds, Jungkook feels like a kid again. He feels anxious to be ignored or scolded.

Without a care for gentleness, he swung his side door open to the large truck and got down to follow after you, “I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t realize they would be home and if I did I wouldn’t have invited you over. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

“That’s not the problem, Jungkook,” you said back to him, “The problem is that you’re so secretive about everything and fine, whatever, you don’t have to tell me but don’t act like you want to know anything about me then if I can’t expect the same.”

You released a sigh at his silence, turning away, “Go home.”

Your front door slammed in his face shutting him out and he could see people staring through the window; probably overhearing everything and he wanted to disappear. When had things gotten so complicated for him?

He missed the days when he didn’t have anything to worry about but now that he’s starting to see the people around him more clearly, he’s realizing he doesn’t like it at all.

✧

It took you days to think about Jungkook again, mostly because you wanted to ignore him and he was making it easy for you. He has only messaged and called a couple times before he got the hint that you don’t want to talk to him and gave up.

You can’t tell if you preferred that or wished he kept trying but you had to move on. The two of you weren’t dating, you hooked up on a boat before realizing his family are pretentious assholes and wanted nothing to do with him now.

You know he’s not his family but at the same time these are people he surrounds himself with and if he was attracted to someone like Yeaun, there was no way he was into you too. You barely know her but you know enough to see that you’re nothing alike.

“What are you looking at?” Hoseok asked, looming over your shoulder.

“Apartments, I still can’t find anything good, I think I need to go home for a few days and do some in-person tours,” You told him with a sigh, scrolling through listings, sitting alone in the beach themed living room that looked fresh out of a cape cod magazine.

“It’s not a quick commute,” He said, “Besides, I already said you can stay with me till we find you a place, there’s no rush.”

“I know, but there’s nothing better to do,” You said with a shrug.

“It’s called avoiding,” Hyeri said, sitting on the edge of the couch, “So Y/n’s probably not gonna come back if she leaves now. You’re mad at Jungkook.”

“No, I’m not,” you rolled your eyes, “That’s over and I haven’t done anything but laze around all day. I need to get my shit together.”

You just want to go home.

“What’s up with you? You’ve looked mad all day,” Jimin pointed out as he mindlessly dug his feet into the sand. He’s dragged Jungkook out after days of not seeing him but his friend couldn’t care less about the beach or hanging out with him. He actually didn't want to hang out with anyone.

“Is it the thing from the other night?” Jimin asked like it was so simple, “Yeaun was talking about it, so you’ve introduced your new girl to the family and it didn’t go so well?”

“Jimin.”

“Yeah?”

“Are you really my friend?” Jungkook asked, sitting at the bottom of one of the net posts, squinting up at the sun.

“Are you kidding? I’ve been around since you were in diapers, you’re like a brother to me,” Jimin said with a laugh, “I just don’t agree with some of the decisions you make.”

“Like?” He pressed for more.

“I don’t know, I just think you have a lot going for you and lately you’ve been acting like you don’t,” Jimin said, shrugging, “You passed the Bar Exam a while ago and instead of going to your dad’s firm you’re wasting time at Jin’s. You don’t answer the phone when your family calls and you ignore your friends for…”

“Say it.”

“For some chick you don’t know,” Jimin scoffed, “I don’t get it. It’s always been you and I, Chaehi and Yeaun. Always. Since we were kids and suddenly you break it off with one of the only girls who’s been here for you and find someone new to entertain yourself with. It’s weird.”

“Asshole,” Jungkook rolled his eyes, kicking off the ground and leaving his friend behind. He wasn’t sure where he was going but he just wanted to be alone.

Were you really just some girl? Is that what everyone thought? Yes, things had been incredibly easy with you but did that mean you weren’t anything more than a fling? As dramatic as it sounds, every interaction with you has been probably the best he’s ever had.

You’re funny, pretty, smart, and so much more than he ever imagined. You pulled him in and pushed him away in the best way possible. Of course it’s been strange getting rejected but you do it in a way that tells him to keep going. You were always there to listen to his obnoxious flirting and when he did decide to tell you anything about himself, you didn’t judge.

He’s so stupid for not doing the same. He wanted you to open up to him because he wanted to get closer to you but he didn’t allow himself to do it too. It was unfair so he understands why you’re mad but he can’t stand it.

He wants to call you but would you want to listen?

Jungkook found himself walking toward the boardwalk hoping the bustling energy from midday was enough to distract him. He thinks you remind him of something different, being somewhere different where he didn’t have to worry so much about what he did or who he was with. Jimin’s right that lately Jungkook hasn’t been doing anything to be apart of his family’s plans for him. He’s kind of been trying to live in the moment and clearly that wasn’t so bad. That’s how he met you and besides, it’s not like he hasn’t been thinking about his future. He just doesn’t see it here in this small town where everyone knows his name. He sees himself somewhere far in the city where he could just blend in with everyone else and do what he wants to do, be with who he wants to. It’s you, it’s seriously you.

You’ve opened up his eyes a little and he hates that his lack of honesty has pushed you away. He can’t even blame it on the uncomfortable dinner because if he wasn’t such a coward, he would’ve done more. He can’t deny that there’s something up with him and he has no doubt in his mind that you have something to do with it. Barely knowing you has done so much more for him than the people he’s known all his life.

Your best friends wanted you to forget about your plans on leaving, knowing you too well to believe you would come back. You’re not the type to do so. If you set your mind on leaving, even for a short time, you wouldn’t come back especially knowing you could run into Jungkook whenever. Maybe you were a coward too because all you ever wanted to do was run away when things get complicated and the last thing you had wanted was for this trip to get that way too.

They dragged you out of the house for a late lunch that you weren’t even hungry for and as a way to distract you but it did the complete opposite of that. Instead, you were brought to that restaurant you came to with Jungkook and the same server who you’ve seen now talk with a girl Yeaun was always around. They were friends and it should’ve been the first sign that you would never get him. You were never part of the plan around here, you were a step back to everyone involved with him and it made you bitter.

How’d you catch the attention of someone so unavailable?

“Come on, I haven’t bought a single thing here, I’ve been too busy working on my tan,” Hyeri said, pulling you along behind her to a clothing stand of sundresses, “We’ve got a few more weeks here, I think it’s time I fit the vibe, right?”

“Yeah,” You told her, looking through the rack of dresses absentmindedly. You wandered away just a little, to a table filled with jewelry and ran your fingers over certain metals and gems. You weren’t thinking much on what was going on around you, too distracted choosing between gold and silver to notice the person standing yards away looking stunned.

For the first time in over a week, Jungkook has found you again, on the beach, looking as breathtaking as usual. After all you’ve been avoiding him, he can’t help but hesitate. Does he approach you or not?

“Y/n?”

You looked up, brows furrowed slightly at who stood in front of you, “Yeaun.”

“Hey! How good to see you,” She smiled her usual tight smile that never quite reached her eyes. Up close you could see just how perfect she must seem to everyone from her height to her figure and tone of voice. She usually wore gold accessories and bikini tops or dresses. She was your perfect ‘Girl Next Door’ but if you paid enough attention to some of the things she said, you’d see how backhanded it all seemed.

“It was such a surprise to see you the other night. I guess none of us knew you were with Jungkook,” Yeaun said it so casually even if you could tell she was prying, “Where is he by the way?”

“Why don’t you ask his mother? The two of you seem close,” You tried not to sound bitter but you’re sure your body language gave away that you were. You searched for Hyeri who was looking at dresses on herself in the mirror and Hoseok left to get snow cones so once again, you were alone in her presence.

“Yeah, sorry about that, our parents go way back,” Yeaun said with a wave of her hand, “It’s a small town, y’know. Everyone knew we were high school sweethearts and when we got engaged everyone was so excited. You can imagine their surprise when we broke it off—sorry, you probably don’t want to hear about this again. I’m sure Jungkook has said enough.”

“It might sound strange but he doesn’t bring you up at all,” You told her, failing to say how you haven’t talked to him, “I guess he got over it a long time before anyone else did.”

“I guess so,” her stupid smile once again, “I like you, you’re good for him and I’m sorry if his family seemed closed off. They’re kind of exclusive with who they bring around. They don’t want just anyone around their sons. I’m sure you can see why, Jungkook is perfect, right? A lawyer in the making, athletic, kind…”

“Silver or gold?” You asked, holding up two different sets of earrings. She blinked in surprise, choosing one and trying to carry on, “What I mean is, he’s the whole package so everyone wants him but he also has a lot of responsibilities. If someone isn’t able to stand behind them all and support him… maybe they’re not the right fit—especially if they won’t stick around.”

You didn’t say anything for a moment, setting the earrings back down and smiling, amused by her audacity, “Who broke it off with who?”

“It was mutual.”

“Doesn’t sound like it was,” You said with a smile, beginning to walk away from her, “But don’t worry, I don’t usually like competing for someone’s attention. I guess I didn’t realize you did, so good luck.”

“Meaning?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Meaning, you’re wasting your breath talking to me because I don’t care what you have to say,” You said sweetly, “But it was so nice seeing you again, hopefully next time we’ll have something new to talk about.”

With that, you left her behind, nearly walking past Hyeri on the way, “Where you going?”

“My phone’s dying, I’m going the house,” you told her quickly, continuing to leave before anyone else could run into you.

“What’d you say to Y/n?” Jungkook asked, pushing his way through the crowds of people, getting to the stand too late and watching you walk away.

“Nothing,” Yeaun raised her hands in feigned surrender, “I was just catching up. Why so worried?”

“Where’s she going?” Jungkook asked Hyeri, ignoring Yeaun who called for him.

“To the house?” Hyeri said, confused by whatever she missed but she couldn’t even ask when Jungkook practically ran after you.

You cut through the beach instead of taking the long route down the street. You walked farther and farther away from him but he never stopped.

“Y/n! Can we talk?” He asks, catching you by surprise but you didn’t even act like it. You merely threw him a glance before walking faster.

“I’m kind of in a hurry,” You lied, stepping over the grassy parts in the white sand where you could see more residential properties.

“Look, I’m sorry. I really am, I should’ve been more up front from the beginning but I swear I didn’t keep things from you to hurt you,” Jungkook said, not stopping his pace even when he can see your house in the distance.

“It’s fine, I’m over it,” You told him, not turning back again as you looked up at the back deck of your house. You still walked closer to down the shore than the trail but you would get there soon.

“But I’m not, I… can’t stand the thought of you being done with me,” Jungkook said honestly, “Since I’ve met you all I can do is think about you and I’m kicking myself over letting you find things out in a hard way. I don’t like the way you were talked to and I should’ve said more but I didn’t and I regret it so much.”

“Jungkook, I don’t care,” you groaned, whipping around to face him, “I don’t care that you kept things from me. I don’t care that there’s something seriously wrong with your family or your ex fiancée. I don’t care if everyone thinks I’m not good enough for you and do you want to know why? Because it’s the summer and I’m not from here and it was fun to fool around in the moment but it’s too complicated now. I don't want anything to do with it. Are you getting it now? I want to go home and forget all about this.”

“You want to leave?” He asked, getting closer and closer, “And what happens then? We just never see each other again because I didn’t mean anything to you?”

“I guess if that’s how you’re seeing it—“

“Bullshit,” He scoffed, “I don’t care how long we’ve known each other or not, you want me just as much as I want you but you’re letting everything else get in the way. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else I can say or do to express that.”

“I’m leaving,” You argued, stepping away, “I’m going back to my normal life and you can go back to yours. Stop making this a bigger deal than it was.”

“What if I don’t want to? What if I think you’re the best thing to happen to me in a while and the thought of you just leaving doesn’t sit right with me? What if I say I don’t want this to just be a summer thing and I will follow you wherever you go if it means I get to talk to you more?” Jungkook kept going.

“Oh my god, Jungkook. Open your eyes! Join the real world, please!” You groaned, too frustrated to bother getting away, “We still don’t know much about each other, clearly. You live in this perfect little bubble with people who care about you and have plans for you. Why can’t you see that? Why are you wanting to throw that away for someone you barely know?”

“I’m not mad, I promise,” You tried to say, “Our lives are just too different and I’m ready to go back to mine—“

Your words were cut off by the rough pull into his arms. Jungkook’s touch was tender yet forceful, dragging your face toward his until your lips clashed messily and you kissed him back. Like a fool, you kissed him too despite everything you were saying.

It made your heart race, practically feeling his want for you and unable to help yourself from succumbing to it.

He can’t remember how long the kiss was, but long enough for his chest to grow heavy with a need to breathe that he had to pull away. His forehead rested against yours, “If you still want to leave… okay. I can’t make you stay but I really want you to, Y/n.”

You didn’t say anything, knowing you did want to leave. At this point it was more for yourself. No matter how harsh they were, they were right. You needed to get your act together and stop avoiding the problems in your life and that meant you needed to go home.

“And I promise that I’m going to see you again whether it be here or somewhere else,” Jungkook said.

FOUR WEEKS LATER

Jungkook was enamored by city life, he’s grown to learn about himself. Something about the tall skyscrapers and bustling traffic excited him like no other while other people hated them. Of course he missed the beach, surfing, volleyball, his friends… but this was for himself. He needed to do something on his own even if it meant doing something unimaginable but it was for the better.

He misses working with cars but he knows better. He put all that work into law school just so he could avoid it and do something else and he needed that to stop. Even if he didn’t work in his father’s firm, that didn’t mean he couldn’t get his foot in the door somewhere else.

After you left and all his distractions were gone, he was able to focus more on what he wanted to do. He got on his laptop to look at internships at other law firms and one day, in his endless searching, he found a small office to work in. It was in the city and it didn’t take him long to pack up his things and go to it. It started problems—of course— but it didn’t stop him, especially knowing you were somewhere here too.

You’ve barely talked since you moved back but he still misses you. He missed you and him on the beach or sailing in the sea. He misses making you laugh or roll your eyes and he wonders how you’re doing. He kept in touch with Hoseok and Hyeri after you left and when they followed suit at the end of vacation, he wanted to ask them about you but he knew better. He knows you weren’t just a fling but maybe one day you’ll come back and give it another shot.

“Iced Americano?”

“I didn’t order one,” Jungkook said as he sat alone at a table in a nice cafe. He didn’t look up until the cup was set down in front of him and when he was ready to tell the barista it wasn’t for him, he froze.

“I know, you don’t really give me ‘Coffee Drinker’ vibes but I figured it was worth a shot,” You sat down across from him.

“Are you stalking me?” He asked, dumbfounded and confused but more excited than anything. He couldn’t believe you were here, at the same place as him by chance.

“Well, I was going to ask the same, this is my usual stop before work and I’ve never seen you here before,” You said, continuing the conversation with him like it never ended.

Jungkook couldn’t help but smile, “Well, you see, I’m new to town and trying new places since this is on my way to work.”

“Is it?” You asked, “You must live around here.”

“As it turns out I do,” Jungkook cleared his throat, “It’s a recent move but one I don’t regret.”

“How are you?” You asked with a shy smile and flushed cheeks, the autumn air beginning to take over.

“Better now—after this coffee I mean,” he teased, taking a sip and scrunching his face in disgust.

You bit your lip in thought, “Actually um, it’s good I’ve run into you. I think there’s some things we should talk about but I have to get to work soon.”

“Well I still have your number, and we can always catch up over dinner?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” You smiled nervously, standing up, “Tonight?”

That made his heart race, “It’s a date.”

::.

holy shit that took forever for me to update

idk how I feel about this but also after a while I think too hard on my work and can’t look at it anymore so please lmk when you think

permanent taglist

most of u are new but I tried to include some of my old, active members of the taglist and if I forgot about u pls lmk <3

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @saweetspoiled @babycandy111 @jeonninja @skzthinker @lilliankoo @lesoleile @burnahtsw @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @whoa-jo @sunnikthv @kochycooky @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @maryy1300 @annabtsangels @hyunjinswifeee @bangtans-momma @butterymin @kaiparkerwifes @junggukjeonfreakinwife @tridha345 @ily4jknity @ivygguk @ryuzakiswife-blog @futuristicenemychaos @honeybunnykoo @eunhee-jk @aindrila @cherrymoonlightt @parkinglot-nights @llallaaa @crooked-haven @butterflykpop @sakuragongju @ackward-maknae @investedreader @junggukjeonfreakinwife

[azzibuckets]

spoiled

vote paige as a wnba all star

paige bueckers x azzi fudd

a/n: paige spoiling azzi. that’s it. wrote in all lowercase bc im lazy. also rough ending bc i didnt know what else to add lmao

word count: 5k

main masterlist | oneshots masterlist

when it works

paige typically isn’t very observant, per se, but with azzi things are somehow always different. noticing things about her best friend comes like second nature to her—like how she’ll always slip a couple of bottles of coconut water into the cooler, or how during sad movies she suddenly has the urge to go to the bathroom every five minutes, blaming it on said coconut water but it’s really so that she can cry without her family making fun of her. or, more relevantly, paige notices that no matter how many dresses azzi looks through, her eyes keep flicking back to the sparkly one in the corner.

it was the first one azzi had looked at when they’d entered the small boutique store. eyes widening, she’d smoothed her hand over the satiny chiffon with a quiet sort of reverence before flipping over the price tag at the top. both paige and azzi’s jaws had dropped at the same time; azzi had brought the slip closer to her face, as if squinting at it would change the amount of zeroes. “didn’t even know dresses could sell for five hundred,” the dark haired girl had muttered before swiftly moving onto the next aisle, not daring to linger with something she knew she couldn’t have.

azzi had liked other ones—a black gown with a slit on the side that paige thought her long legs would look great in, and an emerald green sheath dress that dipped to show cleavage and hugged her curves a little too well. both articles fell within her budget, and it’s not like they were ugly; paige thought that azzi would look just as stunning in them—although it might be a biased opinion, considering that paige also thought azzi could wear a trash bag and still be the most beautiful girl at prom—but nothing compared to the smile she’d had when admiring the first one.

so while azzi was trying on her budget-friendly dresses, paige had went back and snagged the sparkly one. “hey, azzi.” she knocked on the door of the fitting room. “you all done?”

rustling, and then—“yeah. still tryna choose between the black and green.”

paige rises on her tippy toes to heave the dress over the door. “don’t come out yet. put this one on first.”

“paige.” azzi laughed breathily. “this one’s a little too pricey. my mom would implode.”

“i know, i know.” she shakes the dress emphatically. “just give it a try, yeah? i just want a look.”

hesitantly, the dress slips slowly over the door and into azzi’s hands. paige waits patiently outside, foot tapping against the floor. “paige?” azzi’s voice floats out after a few moments. “need help with the zipper.” the door opens a crack, and brown eyes peek out.

“you can’t get it yourself?” if the dress fits anything like paige had imagined, then she doesn’t think she can handle being in a small room when azzi looks like that. if she’s honest, being with azzi always sort of dims her logic, and she doesn’t trust that she won’t do or say something stupid that will expose her more than friendly feeling blossoming of late. but azzi nods adamantly, and paige stifles a groan as she steps into the room.

paige doesn’t let her eyes linger, immediately positioning herself behind her best friend. focus on the zipper, she reminds herself. ignore everything else.

but even from the backside, she’s a traitor to her own thoughts. she zips up the dress slowly, fingers brushing against her back. azzi’s somehow both curves and muscle, and paige resists the urge to trace her thumb along the path of her spine. azzi shivers. “sorry,” paige mutters. “my hands are cold.”

the zipper goes up easily, but paige doesn’t let go. her hands slide down azzi’s shoulders, tracing down to her waist, and she eases forward until they’re flush against each other. heart skipping a beat, paige burrows her chin into the crook of azzi’s neck as her hands slide around her hips. “looks fuckin gorgeous, azzi,” she whispers into the nape of her neck, breath tickling against the younger girl’s curls. she presses a kiss to the underside of her jaw, just for good measure.

a delicious shade of pink blooms across azzi’s cheeks. “i like it,” she says quietly, touching the neckline a little self-consciously. paige’s hold tightens on her.

this time, paige doesn’t have the willpower to avoid azzi in the mirror. the younger girl shifts in front of the glass, studying the dress from all angles. it’s only then that paige notices that this dress too has a slit. it’s subconscious, the way her thumb strokes across the exposed skin of azzi’s thigh, where the gap begins, and she doesn’t even really know what she’s doing until azzi’s breath catches, legs spreading a little as she pushes into paige, who groans. fuck. paige thinks she might faint with the feeling of azzi’s warm skin against her own. she clears her throat. focus. “this might be the one, mama,” she says as normally as possible.

“i can’t.” azzi shakes her head and reaches for the zipper, almost eager to take it off. “i told you, it’s too expensive.”

“nah, you’re getting this dress.” paige pushes away azzi’s hand and takes over, unzipping the dress carefully, one hand planted on azzi’s waist, not so much as to steady her but to feel. “i gotchu.”

“paige,” azzi says indignantly. “it’s half a thousand dollars.”

paige stuffs her hands into her pockets, averting her eyes as azzi steps out of the dress and starts to put her clothes back on. “honestly, az, it would be a crime against humanity for you to not wear something you look so good in.”

“i don’t care. i’m not letting you pay for that,” azzi says firmly.

“baby, you’re doing me a favor.” paige picks up the dress, shaking free the wrinkles before threading it back on the hanger. “it’s not even for you, it’s for me. i wanna see you in this dress.” when azzi stays silent, she adds, “it’s blue and pink which is basically purple and purple is my favorite color.” her logic doesn’t make sense to even herself, and paige doesn’t know why the hell she’s rambling, just that being so close to a half naked azzi is muddling her thoughts more than usual.

but they’re best friends for a reason, and some of that logic seems to work its way into azzi’s brain. “you’re ridiculous,” azzi says fondly, hand pushing paige’s chest a little.

paige grabs her waist so that she can kiss her forehead. “forgot how short you are,” she mumbles. “gotta get you some high heels too.”

“i’m not short,” azzi grumbles, but she has to look up at paige to say this, which doesn’t really help her point.

paige doesn’t hear her, merely grabbing the dress and leading azzi out of the fitting room. “pink sound good?” she asks, bending down to examine the first rack of heels they come across.

“i have heels at home,” azzi says resolutely.

“black heels.” when the younger girl’s eyes narrow, she says softly, “come on, baby. you know i got some nil deals. it’s really not a big deal.” in all honesty, paige has more money than she knows what to do with. becoming the first freshman to win national player of the year came with more media attention than ever, and she’d signed multiple brand deals that left her bank account constantly growing. sure, she’d used some of it to fund charities and donate to certain causes, but there was still an abundant leftover—more than enough to spoil azzi, which was quite possibly her favorite thing to do.

azzi’s eyebrows shoot up. “a five hundred dollar dress and hundred dollar heels isn’t a big deal?”

“not for you.” paige holds up two pairs of pink heels, one a light bubblegum and the other bright neon. “which one?”

“paige.”

“azzi.”

“paige. my mom’s gonna murder you.”

“i’ll just throw away the receipt and we can lie about the price.” paige looks down at the heels. “come on, azzi, if you don’t choose, i’m buying both.”

“fine.” azzi points reluctantly to the neon ones. pleased, paige grabs the lid and boxes it up. “remind me to never go shopping with you again,” the younger girl mumbles. “else you’re gonna go bankrupt.”

“wouldn’t mind going bankrupt,” paige says mindlessly. “long as you’re happy.”

azzi doesn’t know what to say to that, so she takes paige’s hand instead, who manages to hook the dress to the inside of her elbow and hold the shoebox and her wallet with her left hand so she doesn’t have to let go of azzi with her right. they check out, and paige is positively glowing at the look in azzi’s eyes.

as they emerge from the store, they spot azzi’s family milling about at the food court. but azzi isn’t ready just yet to share paige with them, so she tugs the older girl’s hand, halting their steps. paige turns around with questioning eyes.

“i just—” azzi sighs, and reaches for paige’s hand and squeezes it. “i don’t even know what to say. thank you, paige. you didn’t have to do that.”

“i know.” paige squeezes her hand back. “but i wanted to. someone’s gotta spoil the princess.”

azzi rolls her eyes before leaning in to kiss paige’s cheek. then her nose, then her forehead, and on her chin, until she’s peppering paige’s entire face with perfectly platonic appreciation kisses. “thank you, thank you, thank you.”

paige is grinning like a fool once azzi is done. “you forgot a spot,” she jokes playfully, tapping her index finger against her lips, but then azzi freezes and paige starts to sweat, because where the fuck did that boldness came from? she steps back hesitantly, thinking azzi might just about start yelling at her, but azzi steps right along with her. the dark haired girl touches her face, palm cupping her cheek, thumb swiping her bottom lip, and pulls her in. their lips meet, tentatively and softly.

paige groans a little, because azzi’s lips are soft and pillowy, just like she’d dreamt of, and taste a little like the chocolate milkshake she’d had earlier. as azzi breathes into her, paige can’t think of anything but more, more, more. unfortunately, the younger girl pulls away after a few seconds, and looks up at her with hooded eyes. biting her lip, paige realizes that azzi’s hands have somehow made their way under her hoodie to palm her ribs, and she thinks she has approximately five seconds before she actually, for real passes out.

“thank you,” azzi whispers, forehead pressed against paige’s.

paige’s heart stutters. “you’re welcome,” she says shakily, head spinning.

as the reality of their situation starts to set in, azzi giggles. “you just paid $600 for me to kiss you.”

“aw, shut up.” paige pushes her away, but her eyes stay glued to azzi���s mouth, and azzi laughs even harder.

truth be told, it hadn’t been entirely selfless on paige’s part. lord knows the amount of hours she’s spent stalking azzi’s date on instagram, sizing him up. but no matter how many good things she hears about him, about how he’s amazing at football, even better at baseball, a good brother and student, it’s not enough. not for azzi. it’s a bitter feeling, to know that no man is good enough for her best friend. but, as paige slips her wallet into her pocket, she thinks that maybe seeing azzi pose with someone else will sting a little less if she knew that she was the one who’d dressed azzi from head to toe. a twisted sort of satisfaction floods through her, because azzi may dance with another person, but at the end of the night, she’ll come home to her.

༉‧₊˚✧

when it backfires

azzi yawns. it’s barely past midnight, but her legs are still sore and aching from lift, and she’s about ready to knock out. she finishes off her cocktail before sliding a hundred dollar bill across the bar. “you can keep the rest,” she tells the bartender as she hops off the stool and grabs her purse, but he doesn’t even look at it.

“your tab’s already been covered, ma’am,” he replies, continuing to pour drinks.

azzi’s eyebrows furrow. the bartender nods his head at where the team is clumped together in one of the corner booths. “one of your friends got it. think it was the white one with the black shirt.”

and yeah, azzi might be tired, but she’s not tired past the point of letting her ex-girlfriend get away with her bullshit.

“you don’t get to do that.”

paige stares up at her, and azzi wills herself to keep her glare focused on bright blue eyes and not the girl who’s half in paige’s lap, arm looped through the blonde’s and thighs settled onto paige’s like they’re fucking glued together. “do what?” paige asks, taking a slow, unbothered sip of her beer.

“beg for my attention with your stupid money.” azzi throws the bartender-rejected benjamin on the table. it falls into a pool of condensation, wilting in the dampness, looking a lot like how azzi feels. “buying me things won’t change the fact that you’re a complete asshole.”

paige scoffs. “i bought the entire team drinks, azzi,” she says coldly, waving her off. “you’re not as special as you think you are.” the entire table falls silent, all the other girls pretending to not see war unfolding. it’s not that strange of a sight to see these days—the two star players of their team, always having been poised, supportive, leaders, now throwing grenades at each other like it means nothing. they’ve learned by now not to question it, not to dig too deep, to not ask azzi why she’s ignoring paige or ask paige why she won’t look at azzi, or else azzi will go back to her room and paige will get into her car and disappear for the rest of the day.

paige picks up the bill between her thumb and forefinger like it’s dirty, not worth her time. then she tosses it at azzi, as if it’s nothing more than trash, and azzi takes a step back as she realizes that she’s not worth paige’s time. not anymore.

eyes stinging, she turns around quickly, but it’s not fast enough to hide the tears already pooling at her eyes and slipping down her cheeks. paige softens, regret coloring her cheeks—she hadn’t meant to say that, to embarrass azzi, especially not in front of the stupid girl on her lap, and especially not in front of their team. “azzi,” she calls out, reaching for her, but she’s already gone.

a glass slams down on the table, and it’s like the entire room falls silent. “way to go, paige,” caroline says dryly. “making my best friend cry every day this past week wasn’t enough for you? now you gotta ruin the one good day she’s had?” it’s only now that paige remembers why they’re even at the bar—azzi had dropped thirty two points against one of the top ranked teams in the country, had been all smiles for the first time in a while. the taste in paige’s mouth turns sour as she realizes that she hadn’t even said congratulations. as much as she hates to admit it, azzi had been right—she’d drunkenly thought that paying for her drinks would be congratulations enough, that she could make everything up to azzi without ever saying a word or doing anything hard. her stomach sinks.

caroline stands up, brushing off her jeans as she moves to follow. “she was right. sometimes you are an asshole.”

paige can’t even argue back. she likes that azzi has someone who stands up so fiercely for her—she just never imagined that it would be against her. she only has the energy to move the girl off of her, who—paige can’t even remember her name, only that her dimple resembled azzi’s, but was nowhere near as cute, and that her hair was curly, but nowhere near as pretty as azzi’s—grabs the hundred off the floor, eyes gleaming. “i could use this,” she giggles.

without hesitation, paige slaps the money from her hand and puts it into her own pocket. she’s sure as hell not going to keep it, but she’d rather die than let it fall into the hands of someone else. “don’t fucking touch that.”

“your team’s right. you are an asshole,” the girl snaps, and she marches back to her group of friends, who all send a collective dirty look to paige. all the fight leaves paige’s body, and she slumps into her seat and groans.

nika pats her hand sympathetically. “rough night.”

“shut up, nika.” paige allows herself a moment of self-pity, burrowing her face into her arms. “do you think i’m an asshole?” she asks quietly after a beat.

“um.” when she lifts her head to fix nika with a warning glare, the brunette shrugs. “a well-intentioned asshole,” she offers.

“fuck my life.”

“hey, i don’t wanna hear you complaining.” nika shoves her, but it’s affectionate. “i’m still confused on why the hell you ever broke up with her in the first place.”

the question of the year, paige thinks dryly to herself. but she can’t really answer that when she doesn’t know why either, so she grumbles, “i said shut up, nika.”

༉‧₊˚✧

things never really go back to normal after that night. it hadn’t even been the worst things they’ve said each other (when you know someone for so long, fights are inevitable, and when you’ve known someone since you were teens, well, let’s just say every teenage girl has said something terrible at one point). it was the way azzi had walked away, and paige had let her. it was the fact that they’d both made an active decision to just give up, which is probably the breaking point for two girls whose entire relationship had been built on fighting for each other—through distance, pressure, expectations.

amari wipes the sheen of her forehead with her shirt. “spot me?” she requests, and azzi nods dutifully. lift ended half an hour ago, but amari wanted to squeeze in a few more sets, and azzi doesn’t want to be alone right now, so she’d lingered.

“did you see paige’s story?” amari asks, arms trembling as she lifts up the barbell.

azzi stiffens, but she keeps her face neutral. “nah.”

“i heard she dropped like, six hundred dollars at the mall the other day. was on a double date type of thing with the soccer girls.”

azzi’s not sure why amari is telling her all this—they’re pretty close, but azzi’s only ever opened up about her relationship with paige to caroline. she knows paige is the same with nika, stemming from an unspoken place of mutual respect to try and not let whatever’s going on between them affect the rest of the team by limiting who they tell.

“that’s cool,” azzi says, hands hovering over amari’s as she struggles on the last rep. amari flops onto the ground, breathing hard, and azzi lies down next to her as they both stare at the ceiling.

“i’m just saying.” amari rolls over to look at her. “she spends a shit ton of money, but that’s the only thing she does.”

azzi is slowly losing her patience. “what are you getting at, amari?”

“like, i’m not even gonna lie, it’s easy for her to drop a bag. she has money. minimal effort, you know? what’s hard for a D1 athlete with a busy ass schedule is using her time and efforts.” when azzi squints in confusion, amari takes that as a sign to continue. “like, i know you see her spoiling all these other girls, but shit, azzi. you’re the only one she ever set aside time for and did all the extra cringy shit for.”

azzi flops onto her back. she takes a second to debate on whether or not she should continue to engage amari—it feels like a mini act of betrayal to paige, but technically, amari was the one who started it. it couldn’t hurt to ask a couple of questions. “how do you know she’s not taking these girls on romantic beach dates and stuff?” she asks, contorting her voice to sound casual.

“i room with her, azzi. i know,” amari deadpans. “i also know that she’s definitely still in love with you.”

azzi falls silent. a door slams in the background, and there’s a faint sound of balls dribbling.

“can i ask you a question?”

“mhm.”

“why’d you break up with her? she’s hopeless for you, and you’re clearly not over her.”

azzi looks at amari, puzzled. “huh?”

“why’d you end it if neither of you wanted it?” amari prods.

“i didn’t.”

“you didn’t?”

azzi throws an arm over her eyes. she feels like crying again, and breaking down in the middle of the weight room is not her ideal way to spend the morning. “she broke up with me, amari,” she says, voice muffled.

her teammate snorts. “i don’t believe that.”

“then i don’t know what to tell you.” azzi sits up suddenly. “she came to my room, ended things, then left and never spoke to me again after that. she ended it, and it’s over, and i can’t even fucking look at her anymore without feeling like i want to die.” tears are dripping down her cheeks now, and she curses under her breath. she hadn’t meant to say all that. “i gotta go,” she tells amari, who looks more confused than ever. “i’ll see you at practice.”

azzi doesn’t want to believe amari at first. hope is a devastating thing, and for all she knows, amari could’ve been lying out of her buttcheeks. but a week later, when she wakes up hungover and head aching after a night at ted’s, she finds paige in her kitchen, and her friend’s words come back her in a sudden and dizzying rush.

more exactly, azzi wakes up to the smell of omelettes. which is peculiar to her, because nobody on the team likes omelettes but her. when she pads to the kitchen, still in her pajamas and glasses, she double takes at paige standing in the middle of the kitchen, eyeing the pan on the stove like staring hard enough will undo the burnt mess.

“what are you doing in my apartment?” she asks harshly. startled, paige jolts a little, and she curses loudly as her hand comes into contact with the surface of the pan.

“jesus, paige.” azzi grabs her hand, more rough than she needs to be, and paige winces. softening, azzi guides the older girl’s hand under a steady stream of cold water. it’s quiet, only the sound of the running tap and paige’s labored breathing filling the air. azzi can feel the blonde looking stubbornly at her, but it’s 8 AM in the morning and she can’t deal with all that right now, so she doesn’t look up.

she applies some ointment onto paige’s hand, not trusting that paige would do anything more than just stick a band-aid on it and call it a day if left to her own devices. she rummages through the cabinets to find some gauze. paige is wordless the entire time. “geno’s gonna kill you,” she mutters, breaking the silence as she slowly wraps the bandaging around paige’s fingers. “what were you even tryna do? you don’t even like omelettes.”

paige gestures gloomily to the rubbery mixture of eggs and tomatoes and other roasted, indecipherable ingredients. “i chose the recipe that said super easy.” she shakes her head. “i shoulda known when the first step said sauté.”

“sautéing is super easy,” azzi says. “what, you run out of pans at your own apartment or something?” she lets go of paige’s hand. “what are you doing here?”

“‘m tryna learn how to cook better.” the blonde scratches the back of her head sheepishly. “and i know you like omelettes even though they taste gross, and you’re always hangry as hell when you’re hungover, and, well.” she shrugs, looking hopeless.

“how’d you know i’m hungover?”

“nika said some of the girls were going out to ted’d last night, and i didn’t get an invite, so.” paige shrugs. “i assumed you were going.”

that makes azzi a little mad. “we promised to keep the team out of it,” she says. “don’t act like i told them not to invite you. you were invited. everyone was invited in the group chat.”

“i’m sorry.”

azzi snorts out an exasperated breath, and paige licks her lips, nervous.

“why’d you break up with me?”

paige blinks, the question clearly throwing her off guard. “what?”

“you heard me.”

paige turns away, starting to clean up the kitchen, and that gets azzi even angrier. “don’t do that. don’t turn away when it gets hard.” when paige continues wiping down the counters, azzi says harshly, “i know you fucking lied to me.”

paige stills.

“i’ve always been honest with you.” azzi says, voice breaking. “we promised each other that.”

paige’s head bows, but her back remains turned. “who said i lied to you?”

“god, paige, i know you’re still in love with me.” she spreads her arms, hoping to god she’s not wrong. “i see it, everyone else on the team sees it. you broke up with me, giving some lame ass excuse that the timing wasn’t right, that we should focus on basketball.”

“you didn’t want anything serious,” paige says lowly. “i can’t not do a serious relationship with you, azzi. i can’t—i can’t have a little bit of you while wanting all of you. i can’t have some of you knowing eventually i might have none of you. it’s not fair to you or me.” she sniffles. “if you didn’t see us going anywhere, then what was the point of us being together?”

“that’s not—that’s not what i meant.” azzi grabs paige’s elbow, and finally, she turns around. “god, paige. you think i didn’t want serious with you?”

paige runs her hands through her hair, frantic. “you said you weren’t ready for anything more beyond just going on dates! how else am i supposed to interpret that?”

“i wasn’t ready yet, but that didn’t mean i was never gonna be ready.” azzi furrows her eyebrows. “we’ve been just friends for so fucking long, i thought we needed time to adjust to being more before we threw ourselves deeper into everything.” she searched paige’s eyes. “we’ve never been good at taking it slow. or thinking.”

“well, you didn’t say that.” paige laughs bitterly. “so i thought you didn’t see a future in us, azzi, and that fucking broke me.”

“well.” azzi crosses her arms, not so quick to forgive. “you did move on pretty fast.”

“i was tryna distract myself from thinking of you.” paige’s throat bobs, and her voice falls quiet. “it didn’t work.”

“dropping six hundred dollars didn’t work?” azzi provokes, mouth twisted.

paige scowls. “it was three hundred. and who told you that?”

“she’s a gold digger, paige,” azzi says, ignoring the question.

“never said she wasn’t.” paige lifts her hand in surrender. “but it was nice knowing she didn’t want anything but money. i didn’t want her to get invested.”

“how chivalrous of you,” azzi says dryly.

“i know what it looked like.” paige’s hand hovers over her waist, and azzi shifts closer, giving the older girl permission to pull her in. “let me prove to you that you’re the only one for me.” paige kisses her shoulder. “besides, i didn’t hear you complaining when i dropped five hundred on your prom dress.”

azzi scoffs, twisting away but paige’s hands are insistent. “that was so long ago.”

“i know. maybe we should work on our communication skills.” paige presses another kiss to the pulse on azzi’s neck, feeling the flutter beneath her lips. she tastes a little like sweat, and paige loves it.

“and take it slow,” azzi emphasizes, fighting back a smile as she pushes paige’s head away.

“right.” sheepish, paige wipes the spit from her neck with the pad of her thumb. “slow.”

“i better never see you dropping a bag on anyone else again,” azzi warns.

“swear,” paige promises.

“that was the worst month of my life,” azzi admits.

paige nods in assent. “i should’ve talked to you,” she murmurs. “instead of just walking out.” her head falls on azzi’s chest, and azzi holds her.

“caroline’s gonna be jumping for joy when she finds out,” she snorts.

paige winces. “think she’s still mad at me for the bar thing?”

“definitely.”

“i’m sorry about that too. that was wrong of me to say, especially in front of everyone, and—”

“apologies later,” azzi interrupts, makes a start for her room. “first, hold me until i fall asleep because your horrible cooking skills woke me up way too damn early and i’m exhausted.”

paige smirks. “whatever you say, princess.”

༉‧₊˚✧

it works again

“i actually have to get my own gas now.” azzi stares at her fuel gage in disbelief. the red tick is dangerously close to the empty line.

“your life must be so hard,” sarah mocks.

“fuck.” azzi starts her engine. “you’re coming with me.”

“bro, let me go home.”

“don’t think we can even make it back to storrs with this.” azzi drives to the nearest gas station. as she waits for the tank to fill up, she snaps a quick photo of the pump and texts paige.

azzi: can’t even remember the last time i had to do this💔

paige: i’m sorry baby

paige: wish i could be there ☹️

Apple cash payment: $100

azzi: for?

paige: gas

paige: and having to pump it yourself

paige: it’s a cruel world we live in

azzi: sometimes i feel like u think im poor

paige: naaa

paige: you know i love to spoil you

azzi hops back in the car, ten times lighter. tank full, lunch paid for, loved up by her perfect, hot girlfriend. we’re so up, she thinks.

“we can go home now?” sarah asks brightly.

“nope.” azzi pops the p. “we’re getting lunch. paige’s treat.”

“no way.” sarah snorts. “she’s like putty in your hands. bet you could ask her for a thousand and she’d immediately send it, no questions.”

“na, i’m sure she’d say something,” azzi replies. “she knows i don’t need her money.”

sarah’s eyes gleam. “i’ll bet you fifty that paige will send it with no hesitation.”

azzi hesitates. a thousand is a lot—surely paige would ask what it was for, if she even sent it. “alright,” she agrees. “fifty.” she pulls out her phone, sarah huddling over her shoulder.

azzi: P can you send $1000

azzi: please

they wait for a couple seconds. text bubbles pop up before they disappear again, and an apple cash message appears on the screen. Paige Bueckers sent you $1500.

paige: have fun baby

“well, well, well,” sarah snickers. “pay up.” shaking her head, she mutters under her breath, “i should’ve bet a hundred.”

azzi groans and sends $1450 back to paige.

[domm1etae]

Right in Front of You

f!reader x roommate yunho

oneshot | mdni

1.2k

Y/N spends Valentine’s night searching for a hookup, only to come home empty-handed—until she realizes the perfect option was sitting in her apartment all along, proving that sometimes, the best things don’t need to be chased—they’re already waiting for you

nsfw tags under

f/m, vaginal sex, teasting, dirty talk, fingering, doggy style, top yunho, bottom reader, roommates, reader is on BC, roommates to fucking?

author's note: since yesterday was February 14th—aka Valentine’s Day—but i didn’t post anything, i decided to drop a little post-Valentine’s treat ;))

Y/N barely managed to keep her balance as she fumbled with the lock, heels dangling from one hand, bag slipping from the other. She was still in last night’s outfit—nothing too scandalous, but enough to scream I was trying to get laid and failed miserably. Her makeup wasn’t ruined per se, but her eyeliner had smudged just enough to give away that she hadn’t just stepped out looking fresh.

The moment she stumbled into the apartment, Yunho’s laughter rang through the living room. He was perched on the couch, long legs stretched out, nursing a mug of coffee like some judgmental prince.

“Well, good morning,” he drawled, a smirk playing at his lips. “What a sight I have right now.”

Y/N groaned, flipping him off without breaking stride as she tossed her shoes near the door.

“Rough night?” Yunho asked, his tone drenched in amusement.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” she grumbled, finally collapsing onto the couch next to him. “What about you? What did you do?”

Yunho took a slow sip of his coffee before answering. “Me? Oh, nothing crazy. Made dinner, played some games till like 2 AM, then went to bed.” He tilted his head toward her, eyes twinkling. “What about you? Who was the lucky one who took you home?”

Y/N groaned dramatically, draping an arm over her face. “That’s the thing. You’d think that on Valentine’s Day, the club would be filled with hot singles, right? But no. Just couples everywhere—kissing, slow dancing, rubbing their happiness in my face. Not a single man in sight.”

Yunho hummed, setting his mug down on the coffee table. “Huh. Well, I was alone yesterday, you know.”

She peeked at him from under her arm, brows furrowing. “What are you saying, Yunho?”

He turned to her then, closer than before, his gaze no longer teasing but intent. His voice dropped, slow and deliberate.

“If you wanted action,” he murmured, “you didn’t have to go to some stupid club.”

Y/N’s breath hitched as Yunho leaned in, close enough for her to catch the faint scent of coffee and whatever stupidly nice cologne he always wore. His arms rested on the couch, caging her in.

Her lips parted slightly, a mix of confusion and anticipation making her pulse spike. “You—what?”

Yunho scoffed, tilting his head at her like she was the dumbest person he’d ever met. “You’re actually so blind, Y/N,” he muttered, voice thick with amusement but something else too—something darker, something hungry. “You had the easiest opportunity to get laid right in front of you this whole time.”

His fingers trailed up her thigh, just barely skimming the fabric of her dress, and Y/N felt her brain short-circuit.

Looping her fingers behind his waistband, she tugged him even closer, their lips a hair’s breadth apart. “If that’s true, then maybe you should do something about it,” she murmured.

Yunho didn’t need to be told twice.

His mouth crashed against hers, hands sliding up to cup her face, thumbs digging in just enough to make her gasp. That was all the opening he needed, tongue slipping past her lips as he pressed his body flush against hers.

Heat coiled low in her stomach as Yunho’s hands abandoned her face in favor of something much more sinful—one slipping under her dress, the other palming her breast as he deepened the kiss, tilting her head just the way he wanted.

Y/N moaned into his mouth, fingers fumbling at his shirt, nails dragging over his abs before slipping beneath the waistband of his sweats.

“Fuck,” Yunho growled against her lips, his breath coming out shaky. “You’re really desperate, huh?”

Y/N had half a mind to be embarrassed, but then Yunho was pushing her dress up around her waist and dragging her panties down her thighs, and any rational thought she had completely dissolved.

He let out a low groan, fingers sliding through her slick folds, teasing her entrance before slipping one inside. Y/N’s breath stuttered, her back arching at the delicious stretch.

“Shh, keep quiet for now,” he murmured, smirking when she let out a sharp gasp. “We’ll see how long you last before you’re screaming my name.”

Y/N was about to snap back at him, but then he added another finger, curling them just right, and her head hit the back of the couch, a strangled moan ripping from her throat.

Yunho chuckled, working his fingers into her at a pace that was just slow enough to be torturous.

“You’re soaking wet,” he mused, voice dripping with satisfaction. “All that time looking for a one-night stand, and you could’ve just asked me.”

Y/N barely managed to glare at him, her fingers digging into his arms as she rocked against his hand, chasing the friction. “Stop talking and do something.”

Yunho raised a brow, then grinned. “Oh, you’re gonna regret saying that.”

In one swift motion, he withdrew his fingers and flipped her over, pressing her chest against the couch as he yanked her hips up. Y/N gasped, arching into him as he shoved his sweats and boxers down just enough to free himself.

She turned her head slightly, eyes widening as she caught sight of his cock—thick, flushed, and already dripping at the tip.

“Oh, fuck me,” she breathed.

“That’s the plan,” Yunho smirked, dragging the head of his cock through her slick folds before teasing her entrance.

And then he pushed in.

A broken moan ripped from Y/N’s throat as he sank into her, inch by inch, stretching her out in a way that had her thighs trembling.

Yunho let out a shuddering breath, his grip on her hips tightening. “Fuck, you’re tight,” he hissed. “You feel even better than I thought you would.”

Y/N barely had time to process that statement before he snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt.

She choked on a gasp, back arching, hands scrambling for purchase against the couch.

“Oh my God—”

“Yeah?” Yunho groaned, pulling almost all the way out before slamming back in. “Go on, baby. Let me hear who’s making you feel this good.”

Y/N squeezed her eyes shut, nails digging into the cushions. “Fuck, Yunho! You!”

He growled at that, fingers tangling in her hair as he yanked her head back slightly. “That’s right,” he murmured against her ear before biting down on her shoulder, setting a pace that had her body rocking against the couch.

Y/N felt like she was burning, pleasure coiling in her stomach as his thrusts grew rougher, more desperate.

“I can feel you squeezing me,” Yunho groaned, his hand sliding around to rub tight circles against her clit. “You gonna cum for me, baby?”

Y/N nodded frantically, barely able to form words. “Y-Yeah, fuck, Yunho—”

Her body tensed, pleasure exploding through her as she came with a cry, trembling beneath him. Yunho followed soon after, spilling deep inside her with a groan, his body slumping against hers.

For a moment, all she could hear was their ragged breathing.

“So... you wanna tell me that all this time I could’ve been getting the best dick ever, and instead I’ve been suffering in silence?”

Yunho chuckled against her skin. “Well, I guess we have time to make up for that.”

[cheftsunoda]

Hi!! I love your poly fics/smau so much! If you’re up to could you maybe write a mick schumacher x reader x jack doohan one? With the reader being toto wolff daughter. No problem if you can’t or don’t want to 🤍

Btw sorry for my english, it’s not my first language lol

unconventional — mick schumacher + jack doohan

smau/blurbs

mick schumacher x!wolff reader x jack doohan

toto wolff x !daughter reader

YN Wolff and Mick Schumacher have always been a quiet constant in the chaos of the paddock. They’d never confirmed their relationship—but they didn’t need to. From secret glances across the garage to late-night flight selfies and matching bracelets seen on opposite wrists, people put the pieces together years ago. They were the paddock’s soft-spoken power couple. The pair who’d grown up under the weight of legendary last names, who never needed the spotlight to know what they meant to each other. And in 2025, as a new wave of rookies crashes onto the F1 grid, YN and Mick have found themselves in a new role—mentors. Friends. A safe space. They’re the calm in the storm for drivers trying to find their footing. But when Jack Doohan gets shockingly dropped from Alpine’s future plans, everything shifts. He’s not just fast and fiercely competitive. He’s charming. Unfiltered. And completely uninterested in following the rules when it comes to the tightly-bound duo everyone assumed was untouchable. Now, under the glossy calm of race weekends and press releases, something’s brewing. Something electric. Something no one saw coming. After all, love doesn’t always follow formation.

fc : leah halton

(a/n) : your english was perfect my love, i got ya🫶🏻 also mick is still a mercedes reserve driver in this story bc it just worked better for my plot line. love youuuuu

hope you love it!

also guys i am going to be posting a lot in the next 24 hours- i am working my way through all these requests! yayayaya

—

yn_wolff

liked by mercedesamgf1, mickschumacher, gina_schumacher & 1,789,001 others.

yn_wolff : dad said I wasn’t allowed back at the track until i pass my bar exam — so I enlisted micky to help me study. (i am the reincarnation of elle woods) #manifestipass

tagged : mickschumacher

—

view 127,003 other comments.

gina_schumacher : our future lawyer!😍 love youuuu

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : love you my sistaaaa💘

mercedesamgf1 : we vote for boss man to hire you as the head of our legal department - admin

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : lowkey he should but if he doesn’t I’ll just go work for another team

↳ scuderiaferrari : heyyyy ynnnnn

↳ mclaren : we think you’d look great in our colors 🧡

↳ williamsracing : hey girl we have carlos sainz

↳ yn_wolff : SOLD

kimi.antonelli : since mick is doing your homework can you do mine???

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : tell the old man to let me back in and we have a deal

↳ kimi.antonelli : he said he doesn’t care as long as we both get it done. SLEEPOVER!!!!

↳ mercedesamgf1 : no fun. only homework - toto

↳ yn_wolff : BAN THIS MAN FROM SOCIAL MEDIA BOOOOOOO

mickschumacher : you’re lucky you are so beautiful

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : and you are so lucky to be able to look at me everyday

liked by mickschumacher

↳ yn_wolff : im jk thank you for all your help my loveeeee

liked by mickschumacher

georgerussell63 : toto acts like we are such a distraction but you are your own distraction

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : what r you on about georgie

↳ georgerussell63 : I’ve watched you study, one minute we are reading about civil law and the next we are on prada’s website

liked by yn_wolff and mickschumacher

↳ yn_wolff : well i gotta look good in court guys

liked by georgerussell63 and mickschumacher

—

The living room is quiet except for the soft scratch of my pen and Mick’s voice, low and steady as he reads from the flashcards balanced on his palm. He’s sitting cross-legged at the end of the couch, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows, a legal pad on the coffee table in front of him like he’s the one studying for the bar exam. I’m curled against the opposite end, blanket around my shoulders, hair a mess, and caffeine slowly replacing the blood in my veins.

“Alright,” Mick says gently, eyes flicking over the card.

“What are the four elements of a legally binding contract?”

I groan and bury my face in the throw pillow. “Please. Mercy.”

He chuckles. “You said one more.”

“That was three cards ago.”

He waits. Patient, as always. And somehow, annoyingly kind even when I want to scream.

I peek at him through tired eyes. “Offer, acceptance, consideration, and mutual intent to be bound,” I mumble.

Mick beams, flipping the card and tossing it on top of the growing stack. “See? You’re brilliant.”

“Brilliant and dying.”

“Dramatic and brilliant.”

I smile despite myself, letting the blanket fall a bit as I shift closer, nudging his knee with my foot. He rests his hand on my ankle without thinking about it, thumb brushing slow circles over the fabric of my sweatpants. It’s soothing. We’ve done this dance so many nights before—me panicked and pushing myself too hard, Mick grounding me with nothing more than soft words and quiet presence. He never makes me feel like I’m falling apart. Only that I’m building something.

“I should’ve deferred,” I murmur. “Who studies for the bar while working trackside for half the season?”

“You,” Mick says, matter-of-fact. “Because you don’t quit. And because you’re going to pass.”

“You sound awfully sure.”

“I’ve been sure of you since we were seventeen.”

That earns him a look. “You mean when you watched me trip over air and fall on my face?”

He laughs, eyes crinkling. “Yes. That was the moment.”

I press my lips together to keep from smiling too hard. “God, you’re lucky you’re pretty.”

He leans over and kisses my forehead. “And you’re lucky I love you so much.”

I close my eyes, the weight of his hand warm against my leg, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the worn comfort of our flat. Tomorrow we fly out. The start of another race weekend, another whirlwind. But for now, it’s just us. Law books and flashcards and the boy who never let me forget I could do this. And even though I’m exhausted, nerves fraying at the edges, I feel it again—that quiet certainty he always brings with him. I don’t say anything more. Just let myself sink into the couch and trust that, somehow, with Mick beside me, I’m going to be okay.

—

Mick and I stroll into the Mercedes garage hand in hand, fresh coffees in the other, pretending we haven’t done this exact routine a dozen times before. Same arrival, same subtle smiles, same people pretending not to stare. We’re not flashy—never have been. But apparently, walking in with your boyfriend of several years and holding his hand still counts as news in this paddock. The second we step past the threshold, I hear it.

“Must we hold hands in the workplace?”

Toto’s voice cuts through the soft hum of team chatter and tire guns like a judge entering court. I don’t even look up from my coffee.

“Morning to you too, Papa.”

He’s standing by the pit wall, arms crossed, headset around his neck, giving us the look—somewhere between annoyed principal and long-suffering father.

Mick just smiles, completely unbothered. “Good to see you too, Toto.”

Toto grumbles something about professionalism under his breath and waves us off like he’s allergic to affection. I let go of Mick’s hand just to be petty and blow my father a kiss. He pretends not to see it. We’re barely two steps deeper into the garage when a blur of movement crashes into us.

“YN—I need you. It’s an emergency.”

I turn to see Kimi Antonelli skidding to a stop beside me, tablet in hand, hair sticking up like he’s been electrocuted.

“Please tell me this isn’t another laundry crisis,” I say, sipping my coffee.

“No, worse. Math.”

He shoves the tablet into my hands, eyes wide. “I have to submit this calculus quiz in an hour and I don’t know what I’m doing and I already used up my free trial on that homework app thing and—”

“Kimi,” I interrupt gently, scrolling through the page, “you used the cosine function on a linear problem.”

“I panicked!”

Mick peers over my shoulder, trying not to laugh. “Is that… is that a meme in the middle of your solution?”

“It’s context,” Kimi says defensively. “Visual learning.”

I glance back at Toto. He sighs and mutters something that I’m 80% sure translates to “I need a raise.”

Kimi’s bouncing nervously beside me. “You can fix it, right? You went to actual university. You know things. You’re terrifyingly smart.”

“I’ll help,” I promise, smiling. “But you’re buying me a cupcake later.”

“Done. Two cupcakes. I’ll name my firstborn after you. Please just don’t let me fail.”

I sit down on a spare stool, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, while Kimi settles in beside me and I begin to explain the cosine function to him. Mick sits across from us and offers emotional support for Kimi.

—

Kimi’s halfway through solving for x—with the dramatic flair of someone diffusing a bomb and not just doing high school math—when he suddenly perks up, eyes flicking toward the entrance.

“Oh! I told the guys to swing by,” he announces, like he’s summoned a group of puppies instead of three more chaotic rookies. “They need your legal help. Also, Jack still owes me food.”

I open my mouth to protest—mostly because this is my workspace and not a study hall—but I’m too late. Isack, Ollie, and Jack stroll into the garage like they’ve done it a million times. Which, to be fair, they pretty much have. Isack’s already deep in conversation with George. Ollie’s sipping on his latte. And Jack…

Jack’s the last one through the door. His hands are shoved in his pockets, his Alpine gear jacket half-zipped, and that familiar, cocky grin is already tugging at his face. His hair’s a little wind-tossed, eyes sharp as they scan the garage—until they land on me.

And that’s when something changes. It’s small. Subtle. But I feel it. We’ve known each other for years. I’ve seen him after races, through interviews, in group chats roasting each other to death. I know his stats, his bad habits, and the fact that he secretly loves corny dad jokes. But when he looks at me this time… it’s different.

“Hey, counselor,” Jack says, his voice smooth, familiar, but the way he says it has weight. Like it’s not just a joke anymore.

I raise an eyebrow. “Hey, future client.”

Kimi chimes in, snorting. “Don’t flirt with her, Jack. She’ll make you do math.”

Jack’s gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Maybe I should. Might actually learn something.”

The comment lands softly but solidly—enough to make something flicker in my chest. I feel Mick shift beside me, subtle but definitely there. A small tightening of his hand on the back of my stool. A reminder. A presence.

I tilt my head at Jack, keeping my voice light. “Only if you show your work.”

Jack smirks, like that’s exactly the answer he was hoping for.

Ollie slides into the chair across from me. “Kimi, if this is about your math quiz again, I’m begging you—stop sending me panic texts at 2 AM.”

“You said you were awake!”

“I was busy!”

“At 2 am?” I questioned with a smirk.

Isack leans in over my shoulder and holds out his phone. “Can you read this brand deal for me and see if I should say yes?”

The moment disperses in rookie noise—complaints, questions, bickering about everything under the sun —but even as I scroll through Isack’s email, I catch Jack watching me again.

—

three month time skip

The ocean is quiet today. Waves roll in soft and slow, like they’re trying not to interrupt anyone’s peace. The sun is warm—not too harsh, not too dull. Just enough to feel like summer without sweating through my sanity. It’s rare for a day to feel still during the season, but somehow, this one does. I stretch out on the oversized towel, my legs tangled with the pages of my study guide, a half-highlighted section on constructive trusts fluttering in the breeze. I should be focused. I need to be focused. The bar exam is a monster creeping closer by the day, and my outlines are starting to blur together like one long fever dream.

But instead of thinking about fiduciary duties, I’m watching Mick and Jack attempt to skim a frisbee across the sand like it’s an Olympic event.

Jack dives dramatically after it—misses by a mile—and flops onto his back, arms out like he’s been shot.

Mick laughs, all golden and easy, brushing sand off his chest and tossing the frisbee back with a smirk. “That’s six in a row. Are you okay? Do you need medical?”

“Pretty sure the sand is actively sabotaging me,” Jack calls back.

“You’re actively sabotaging you,” I mutter, mostly to myself.

Jack hears it. He sits up and shoots me a grin. “You wound me, counselor.”

I roll my eyes and go back to underlining the statute that’s been haunting my dreams all week. We’ve spent a lot of time together this season—more than I expected. It started with paddock run-ins, dinners, legal meetings with my rookies. Then it turned into post-session coffees, long hotel conversations, quiet dinners in Mick’s apartment where Jack somehow always showed up with wine and a dumb story.

It’s not that I don’t love it. I do. I love the rhythm we’ve fallen into. Mick’s calm presence beside me when my brain’s overloaded. Jack’s ridiculous one-liners that make me laugh even when I want to scream. The way they both know not to talk when I’m flipping flashcards like a machine—but also the way they do talk when they know I’m spiraling. Mick comes over now, sweat-slick and sun-kissed, flopping down beside me. He leans over to kiss my temple, his hand ghosting over my back before settling at my waist.

“Still memorizing?” he murmurs, peeking at the page.

“Trying,” I say, voice soft. “Jack’s dramatic death scenes aren’t helping.”

“I love chaos,” Jack says from his new position, halfway buried in sand. “It’s what I bring to this group.”

Mick grins, then gently takes my pen out of my hand and sets it on the towel. “Just ten minutes. Close your eyes. Breathe.”

“I—”

“No arguing,” he says.

I huff but oblige, stretching back onto the towel, letting the sun soak into my skin. Jack wanders over and collapses beside me with a groan, head landing near my shoulder.

“Tell me again why law school doesn’t give you beach credits,” he says. “You’d be top of your class.”

“Because justice isn’t served on a towel,” I mumble.

“Maybe it should be.”

Mick chuckles quietly beside me. I can feel his fingers trace absent patterns over my ribs. Jack’s hand brushes mine in the sand, just barely—not on purpose, but he doesn’t move it either. And for a moment, I forget about everything else. The exam. The season. The rules I usually live by. Because between the two of them, the world feels quieter. Easier.

—

Mick’s POV

The sun’s starting to sink into the horizon, brushing everything in that soft, golden haze that makes the world feel suspended—just for a little while. The three of us are still stretched out on the beach, tangled in towels, sand, and half-finished thoughts. YN’s curled on her side next to me, finally napping, her study guide open but forgotten under her arm. Her face is relaxed in a way it rarely is lately—no bar stress, no logistics spreadsheets, no weight of being Toto Wolff’s daughter or the girl who holds half the paddock together like duct tape.

Just YN. Just this moment. And then there’s Jack.

He’s quiet now, legs stretched out in the sand, arms propped behind him as he watches the sun drop lower over the water. But every so often, his eyes shift. Not toward the sky, or the waves, or anything else. Toward her.

It’s subtle. If I didn’t already know him, I might’ve missed it. But I do know him.

I see the way his expression softens when he thinks no one’s watching. The way his eyes linger on the curve of her cheek, the loose strands of hair brushing against her lips in the wind. The way his fingers twitch slightly, like maybe they want to reach out but know better. It’s not the kind of look you give a friend.

It’s the kind of look you give someone you’re trying really hard not to fall for—even though it might already be too late.

I don’t feel jealousy. Not exactly. It’s something more complicated than that. I’ve loved her for years. And she’s loved me back. Steady. Quiet. Unshakable. We built something strong—something real. But lately, with Jack… things have shifted. I can feel it. The way she laughs around him. The way her eyes sparkle a little brighter when he walks in. The way she listens when he talks, like she already knows what he’s going to say, and wants to hear it anyway. And the thing is…I don’t hate it.

Jack’s become part of us, whether we planned for it or not. He’s stayed late after races to help clean up her flashcards. He’s waited in hotel lobbies with bags of snacks when she’s come back from mock trials too drained to function. He teases her in a way I never could—sharp-edged but safe. Challenging, but kind.

And now, on this beach, under this sky, watching him watch her…I wonder if maybe this thing we’ve built—YN and I—was never meant to have walls. Maybe there’s room for something more. Maybe there’s room for him.

She stirs beside me, eyelashes fluttering as she stretches and yawns. I reach over, brushing a bit of sand from her cheek.

“You okay?” she mumbles, eyes still half-closed.

“Yeah,” I say, soft. “Just thinking.”

Jack glances away quickly, like he wasn’t caught. But I saw. And I don’t think I mind. Not yet. Maybe not at all.

—

yn_wolff

liked by jackdoohan, mickschumacher, kimi.antonelli & 2,509,002 others.

yn_wolff : bar exam is 5 days away and it has consumed me so enjoy these pics (ft jack my paralegal and tech support) (and mick, my emotional support boyfriend)

tagged : jackdoohan, mickschumacher and susie_wolff

—

view 135,028 other comments.

georgerussell63 : less thirst trap more study

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : ironic coming from a man that never has a shirt on

liked by georgerussell63 and lando

kimi.antonelli : why is jack suddenly the third wheel??! I thought it was me 😕

liked by yn_wolff and jackdoohan

↳ yn_wolff : I do not see you as a third wheel kimi, I see you as my child

liked by kimi.antonelli and mickschumacher

↳ kimi.antonelli : oh okay 😁 that makes me feel warm and fuzzy on the inside

liked by yn_wolff

mickschumacher : my greatest achievement in life is being your emotional support boyfriend

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : you do a rlly good job 😻

susie_wolff : You got this, beautiful girl! We are all rooting for you ❤️

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : mommmmmy i love you 😭 shopping spree if i pass??

liked by susie_wolff

↳ susie_wolff : can’t wait for it! 😁

jackdoohan : adding paralegal, tech support and third wheel onto my resume

liked by yn_wolff

↳ yn_wolff : my fave third wheel

liked by jackdoohan

↳ yn_wolff : don’t forget expert frisbee player

liked by jackdoohan and mickschumacher

—

There’s a low buzz under my skin that’s been there since 5AM, a combination of adrenaline, dread, and the overwhelming urge to sprint in the opposite direction. Today is bar exam day, and I haven’t decided whether I’m ready or just completely numb. Jack is riding shotgun, legs kicked up on the dash, spinning a pen between his fingers like he’s the one about to sit this thing. Mick’s driving with the kind of focused calm that’s the only thing keeping me from absolutely losing it. We’re about ten minutes from the testing center when my phone rings in my lap.

Papa is calling...

I blink at the name for a second before answering. “Hi.”

“YN,” comes Toto’s voice—calm, steady, and warm in a way he rarely gets to be when the whole world is watching him. “Just checking in. Are you feeling okay?”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “As okay as someone facing seven hours of legal hazing can be.”

Mick chuckles.

“I wish I could be there,” Toto says. “But I know you. You’ve worked for this. You’ve done everything right. Today is just… the final step.”

“I know,” I say, voice smaller than I intended.

There’s a pause, then his voice softens. “You’re going to be brilliant. No matter what happens, I’m proud of you. Call me when you’re done—your mother is already pacing.”

“Of course she is,” I laugh, blinking fast. “Thanks, Papa. I love you.”

“I love you too, meine Kleine. Now go show them what a Wolff can do.”

When I hang up, there’s a beat of silence. Jack’s looking out the window like he didn’t hear the whole thing. Mick reaches back and sets a hand on my knee.

“I like supportive Toto,” Jack says, mock-wiping a tear from his eye. “Character development.”

Mick just squeezes my hand. “You okay?”

I nod, the nerves still there but… less crushing now. “Yeah. That helped.”

“Good,” Jack says, grinning as we pull into the drop-off. “Because you’re about to argue with the ghost of every law professor you’ve ever had.”

“I swear to God,” I mutter as I step out of the car.

Jack hops out and jogs around, already adjusting my bag on my shoulders like some chaotic assistant-slash-bodyguard. Mick joins us a second later and smooths the collar of my blazer.

“You look terrifyingly competent,” Jack declares.

“Terrifying in general,” Mick adds with a soft smile.

Before I can roll my eyes at them, I get two forehead kisses—one from each of them. Like clockwork. Like it’s normal.

“Go make the justice system your bitch,” Jack whispers.

“And call us the second you’re done,” Mick says. “We’ll be right here.”

I take one breath. Then another. And walk inside without looking back. But I know they’re both standing there, waiting—my boyfriend and my maybe-something-more, and my dad just a phone call away.

—

It’s done. Seven hours. Multiple essays. Hundreds of bubbles filled in so aggressively that I snapped my second pencil during Contracts. My brain feels like mashed potatoes and my hands are trembling, whether from adrenaline, exhaustion, or caffeine withdrawal—I genuinely don’t know. The fluorescent lights of the testing center feel like a personal attack. The air is stale. Everyone looks like they just returned from war. My legs are moving toward the exit before I fully process that it’s over. My mouth is dry. My heart’s still racing. And I’m this close to crying, but not the good kind. The kind where you’re not even sure what you’re crying about—just that your body needs to release something. The second I step outside into the late afternoon sun, I see them. Mick and Jack, leaning against the car.

“CONGRATS TO OUR FAVORITE LAWYER”

(with an asterisk below that reads: *we’re still not sure what tort law is but we believe in you.)

Mick’s holding an iced coffee and the softest smile I’ve ever seen.

“Hey,” he says gently, pushing off the car. “You made it.”

My bottom lip wobbles. “Barely.”

Jack lowers the sign and jogs the last few steps toward me. “What’s the verdict, Counselor?”

I shake my head. “I don’t even remember what I wrote. I think I may have argued with myself in one of the essays.”

“So… standard Tuesday?” he teases, grinning, and I let out a strangled laugh. He steps forward and wraps his arms around me, warm and solid and completely distracting from the lump still sitting in my throat. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs. “So proud.”

Mick joins us a moment later, wrapping his arms around both of us, letting me sink between them like I’m allowed to collapse for just a second. Like I don’t have to be composed or capable right now.

“I brought coffee,” he says, pulling back just enough to press it into my hand. “And we have snacks in the car. And I promise you’re not allowed to think about any legal principle until at least… tomorrow.”

I rest my forehead against his chest. “I don’t even know how to function right now.”

“You don’t have to,” Jack says softly. “That’s what we’re here for.”

I blink up at them—my boyfriend and my… well, Jack—and suddenly I am crying. But this time it’s the good kind. The messy, exhausted, grateful kind.

They don’t freak out. They just hold me. Let me fall apart a little. Let me be human.

“You did it,” Mick says into my hair. “It’s over.”

The two got me in the car and I finally started to calm down. I don’t know where we’re going until the car slows in front of a restaurant I definitely recognize—but only because it’s impossibly nice and I once spilled tomato soup in the entryway during a Wolff family brunch when I was twelve.

“Guys,” I say warily, adjusting my hoodie and messy bun. “I look like I’ve been in a bunker. We can’t go in here.”

“You look perfect,” Mick says, already out of the car.

Jack grins, holding the door open for me. “Also, too late. We made a reservation.”

I give them both suspicious glares as they usher me inside, but my mouth is too full of caffeine and exhaustion to argue.

We step through the doorway, and I’m met with the unmistakable sound of—

“There she is!”

I stop dead.

At the corner table, Toto and Susie are standing up—standing—with huge grins on their faces and a bottle of champagne already being uncorked by a very confused waiter.

“No. No way,” I whisper, turning back toward the boys, who are now both beaming like the smug little traitors they are.

“You’re not the only one who can pull off a surprise,” Jack says.

“I didn’t agree to this emotionally,” I say, but my voice is already trembling.

Toto steps forward first, wrapping me in a big, warm hug before I even have time to breathe. “You did it, meine Liebe. I don’t care what your score is—you showed up, and that’s more than most people will ever do.”

“Papa,” I mumble, melting against him.

He pulls back and cups my cheek like I’m still six years old. “I’m so proud of you I could explode.”

Susie hugs me next, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I told him we should have met you at the test center, but he wanted the lighting in here to be better for photos.”

Toto scoffs. “I did not say that.”

Mick and Jack are already sliding into seats beside me, practically glowing with pride as the waiter pours the champagne.

“You thought we were just taking you to dinner,” Jack says, nudging my shoulder.

“I thought I was going to cry in a drive-thru parking lot and then fall asleep,” I admit.

“Well, now you get pasta, champagne, and people who love you instead,” Mick says.

I glance around the table—at Toto, beaming like I just won the constructors’ championship; at Susie, already pulling out a small gift bag from under the table; and at the two idiots beside me who spent the last six months making sure I never gave up.

And for the first time all day, my brain stops spinning. I smile. It’s small and soft, but it’s real.

“Okay,” I say. “Now it feels real.”

—

I almost didn’t check. Not because I didn’t care—but because I cared too much. Because part of me still doesn’t believe I’m the kind of person who gets good news after months of surviving on nerves and flashcards and microwave ramen. But now I’m staring at the screen, hands over my mouth, tears welling up so fast I don’t even register the moment I start crying. I passed. I. Passed. A second later, my laptop is yanked away—gently—and Mick’s arms are around me, lifting me up and spinning me once before setting me back on the couch.

“You did it,” he whispers, kissing my forehead, my cheeks, the tip of my nose. “I knew you would.”

I can’t breathe. I’m sobbing into his chest and laughing at the same time, and when Jack bursts into the room—barefoot, holding a half-eaten banana —he freezes, wide-eyed.

“Wait. Is this a happy cry?”

I lift my head and nod. Jack lets out a whoop so loud it makes the dog next door start barking. “She passed?! She passed!” He ditches the banana and practically tackles me onto the couch, both of them hugging me like I’ve just been knighted and crowned in one motion.

Susie bursts in next, phone in hand. “Toto and I were tracking the portal. You passed?”

Mick beams. “She passed.”

Toto appears a heartbeat later with two bottles of champagne. “We’re celebrating. Tonight. No excuses.”

I laugh, wiping tears from my cheeks. “What if I wanted a quiet night in?”

“No,” he says firmly. “You are my daughter. You passed the bar. And we are going out.”

Susie kisses the top of my head. “Already called the restaurant. Private room. Best desserts in the city.”

But when we’re about to leave, Jack slips into his shoes and pulls me aside in the hallway.

“Hey,” he says softly, eyes flicking toward the front door. “I’m not coming tonight.”

I blink. “What? Why not?”

He rubs the back of his neck, not quite meeting my gaze. “Just—something I need to handle. Nothing bad, I swear. I just… need the night.”

I frown. “Jack…”

He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Go. You deserve the celebration. You earned every second of it.”

Mick joins us at the door, tilting his head. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Jack says quickly. “Take her out. Have a drink for me, Counselor.”

And before I can press him any further, he leans in, kisses the side of my head, and gives me a quick squeeze. He’s gone a second later, disappearing into his car and driving off before I can even think of calling his name. I glance up at Mick, who looks just as confused.

“Weird?” I ask.

“Weird,” he agrees.

Still, there’s champagne waiting. A proud father with a reservation. A night I’ll never forget. But as we drive away, as Toto tells me how proud he is and Susie starts planning a Europe trip in my honor, my mind drifts. To Jack. To the way he looked at me right before he left. Like maybe something inside him is shifting, too.

—

yn_wolff

liked by susie_wolff, georgerussell63, mickschumacher & 4,098,001 others.

yn_wolff : yours truly is officially a lawyer😭 thank you to everyone who supported me on this journey— my friends, my family, my boyfriend — everyone. i love you all.

—

view 325,027 other comments.

mercedesamgf1 : Congratulations YN! 🎉🍾🙌🏻 We knew you could do it!

liked by yn_wolff

susie_wolff : We are SO proud of you. You earned this, YN. You are incredible! ❤️❤️

liked by yn_wolff

georgerussell63 : as much as I pick on you, I am genuinely so proud of you. if I ever found myself in legal trouble, I suppose I’d trust you to get me out of it 😉

liked by yn_wolff

gina_schumacher : MY GIRLLLL!! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT. I AM SO SO PROUD.

liked by yn_wolff

mickschumacher : proud is an understatement. you are incredible, my love. you never fail to amaze me 🫶🏻

liked by yn_wolff

kimi.antonelli : YAYYYYYYY MOMMMMMM😁😁

liked by yn_wolff

olliebearman : Congratulations YN!! We all knew you could do it. Any chance you can help me get out of something I accidentally signed? 😁😁

liked by yn_wolff

—

F1

755,304 likes.

f1 : Alpine has announced that Jack Doohan is out and will be replaced by Franco Colapinto for the remainder of the season.

—

user has disabled the comments.

—

The music in the private room is soft and jazzy, the kind Toto insists creates the perfect dinner ambiance. There’s champagne in my glass, a slice of pistachio cake in front of me, and Susie’s in the middle of telling a story about how I used to cross-examine my kindergarten teacher over snack time distribution. Everyone’s laughing. I should be laughing. But then my phone buzzes on the table beside my plate—once, twice, a third time. Group chats. Twitter notifications. F1 alerts.

I glance down lazily, expecting another George Russell meme. But then my eyes catch on the headline at the top of my screen.

BREAKING: Jack Doohan Dropped From Alpine and to be replaced by Franco Colapinto for the remainder of the season.

The room spins. My chair scrapes against the floor before I even know I’m standing.

“YN?” Mick’s voice is soft but confused. “What’s wrong?”

I stare down at my phone, my thumb shaking as I scroll. It’s confirmed. Official. Just posted. His name is everywhere—“unexpected,” “internal restructuring,” “development priorities.” All corporate bullshit masking the fact that they just… let him go.

Toto’s already leaning forward. “What happened?”

“Jack,” I breathe. “Jack got dropped from Alpine.”

Mick’s face falls. “Wait, what?”

My heart is pounding now, the air around me too tight. Too loud.

“I—I need to find him,” I say, already grabbing my bag. “I need to go.”

Susie stands up. “YN, slow down—he might need space—”

“No,” I cut her off, eyes already burning. “He was off all night. He knew. He didn’t want to ruin today for me. And I let him leave without—without saying anything.”

Toto gently reaches for my wrist. “Do you know where he is?”

“He wouldn’t go home,” I say quickly, mind racing. “He probably went to the marina. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere he could fall apart without anyone watching.”

Mick is already sliding into his jacket, calm and steady. “I’ll drive.”

Toto gives me one long, thoughtful look—then nods. “Go. We’ll wrap everything up here.”

“Call me if he doesn’t pick up,” Susie adds. “And tell him we’re proud of him no matter what.”

I nod, lips pressed tightly together. My chest aches. My eyes sting. Jack is my friend. One of my best friends. My my mock trial partner, my grounding force these past few months. The one who sat next to me on the floor while I cried over contracts law and made stupid jokes about torts until I stopped shaking.

And now he’s hurting. Alone. And I don’t care that this is my night. I don’t care that I passed the bar. None of it means anything if he’s out there falling apart by himself. Because somewhere between all those late nights and long drives and inside jokes—I stopped thinking of Jack as just a friend. And I’m not going to let him go through this without me.

—

The streets blur past outside the car window, neon lights streaking across the windshield like we’re racing time itself. Mick doesn’t say much—he doesn’t need to. His hand rests on my thigh the whole drive, grounding me as my mind spirals.

“He knew,” I whisper, barely audible over the hum of the engine. “He knew and he still showed up for me.”

Mick squeezes gently. “That’s who Jack is.”

I nod, wiping at my eyes. “That’s why we have to find him.”

It doesn’t take long. Jack’s a creature of habit, always retreating to the water when things get too loud. We pull into the empty marina just after sunset, the sky streaked with indigo and gold, boats gently rocking in their slips. It’s quiet. Peaceful. Too peaceful for the kind of grief I know he must be carrying.

We walk together in silence, scanning the docks until—

“There,” I breathe, pointing.

Jack’s sitting near the end of one of the docks, legs hanging over the edge, a hoodie pulled over his head and headphones around his neck. He’s staring out at the water like it might offer him some kind of answer. Like if he stares hard enough, the waves will make the reality go away. I don’t wait. I jog the last few steps, the wooden boards echoing under my feet until I’m dropping to my knees behind him.

“Jack,” I say softly.

He flinches slightly, but doesn’t turn.

“You should be at your party,” he murmurs, voice rough and low.

“You should’ve called me,” I reply.

Silence.

“I didn’t want to ruin your moment,” he finally says. “You deserved to have that without… this.”

I crawl closer until I’m sitting beside him, shoulder pressed gently against his. “You’re part of that moment, Jack. Every late night, every meltdown—you carried me through it. Don’t you get that?”

He swallows hard, still staring ahead. “Doesn’t matter now.”

Mick walks up behind us and crouches on Jack’s other side, his presence solid and warm. “That’s not true. You’re still you, Jack. You’re still damn good.”

Jack lets out a bitter little laugh. “Good doesn’t keep you in a seat.”

“No,” I say quietly. “But being loved does.”

That gets him to turn. His eyes are red-rimmed, like he’s been holding it together for hours. Like if anyone says the wrong thing, he’ll fall apart. So I say nothing else. Just lean in and wrap my arms around him. He stiffens at first, then melts, pressing his forehead to my shoulder like he’s been holding his breath all day and only just now exhaled.

Mick wraps one arm around us both, his hand settling on the back of Jack’s neck.

“I’m sorry,” Jack whispers. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

“We’re not going anywhere,” I whisper back. “Not now. Not ever.”

The three of us sit there for a long time, no words needed. Just the sound of the water lapping against the docks, the breeze rustling the sails, and our hearts slowly settling back into rhythm beside each other. Because this isn’t the end. Not for Jack. Not for us.

—

Jack’s POV

I wake up slowly. It’s warm—too warm. Not the kind of heat from the sun, but the kind that comes from being wrapped in a blanket you don’t remember getting into, on a couch that doesn’t quite belong to you, with the faint scent of vanilla and clean laundry all around. For a second, I don’t move. I just listen. Soft footsteps in the kitchen. A kettle clicking on. Someone humming faintly—YN. I’d know her voice anywhere, even when it’s just a tune under her breath.

I blink open my eyes and realize I’m at their place—Mick and YN’s. Their living room is full of soft light, the curtains cracked open just enough to let the sun in. A hoodie has been draped over me. Not mine. Mick’s, I think. I shift slightly, and that’s when I see him—Mick, on the other armchair, feet propped up, flipping through some sports section and sipping tea like this is the most normal morning in the world.

He glances up. Smiles. “Morning.”

I clear my throat. “Hey.”

“Coffee’s on,” he says casually. “YN’s making those protein muffins she claims are good. No promises.”

I try to smile. I fail.

“You didn’t have to stay,” I murmur.

Mick shrugs. “You didn’t have to either. But here we are.”

He says it like it’s simple. Like there’s no weight behind it. But I can still feel it in my chest—that ache that started when the Alpine email hit, the one that only got worse when I imagined YN out celebrating without knowing the ground was collapsing under me.

And then she came. And Mick. And they stayed.

“Do I look like a disaster?” I ask, rubbing a hand down my face.

“You look like someone who got blindsided by bad news and didn’t deserve it,” YN says, stepping in from the kitchen with a mug in her hand.

She walks over and hands it to me—hot, just the way I like it, the way she knows I like it—and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more seen.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” she adds softly. “Just so you know.”

I stare at her, throat tight. “I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“You’re not,” she says immediately. “You’re family.”

I can’t speak. I can barely breathe past the lump forming in my chest. So I nod. Once. Twice. And then she leans down and presses a kiss to the top of my head, her hand cupping the back of my neck for just a second too long. It’s comfort. It’s home. It’s… something else. Something I don’t dare name. Yet. Mick watches us with that unreadable expression of his—calm, patient, knowing far more than he lets on. Then he tilts his head, eyes back on me.

“You’re staying here for a few days.”

It’s not a question.

“I—”

“No arguing,” YN says, sitting on the arm of the couch. “You’re not going to be alone right now.”

I swallow hard and let the warmth of the coffee settle into my hands. They’re not going to let me fall. Even if part of me already has.

—

your pov

The apartment is quiet. Jack’s asleep in the guest room, finally. He tried to insist he didn’t need it, but Mick gave him that look, the one that doesn’t leave any room for argument, and now he’s tucked in under fresh sheets, breathing even and soft behind a closed door.

I sit on the couch in one of Mick’s t-shirts, legs pulled up under me, half a cup of tea cooling in my hands.

Mick joins me a minute later, dropping beside me with a low sigh, his hair still damp from the shower, his expression unreadable—but tired. Not from the day. From the weight of it all.

“He finally fell asleep?” I murmur.

Mick nods. “Out like a light.”

I rest my head against his shoulder, letting the silence settle between us like a blanket. We sit like that for a while. Until I say it.

“He means a lot to me.”

Mick doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even shift. He just exhales slowly, like he’s been waiting for me to say it.

“I know,” he says quietly. “He means a lot to me, too.”

I close my eyes. “I didn’t expect it. Not like this. Not so quickly.”

He hums. “I did.”

I glance up. “You did?”

Mick shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I saw it before you did. The way you light up when he texts. How you always wait to see if he’s going to sit next to you. You never said it, but I’ve always known.”

My stomach twists—not with guilt, but something gentler. Deeper. More real.

“You’re not upset?”

He turns to look at me fully now, his gaze soft but steady. “No. Because I’ve seen how much love you have to give. And I’ve seen how Jack looks at you when you’re not watching.”

I swallow hard, emotion catching in my throat. “Mick…”

He cups my cheek with one hand. “Loving you doesn’t mean I have less to give. If anything… I think there’s more room now.”

I blink at him, tears suddenly stinging behind my eyes.

“You think…?” I whisper.

Mick nods. “I think he fits.”

It’s so simple. So honest. And it breaks me open in the best way.

I lean forward, pressing my forehead to his, trying to steady myself. “I don’t know where this goes. Or what it becomes.”

“Neither do I,” he says softly. “But I trust us. And I trust him.”

I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes. “You really saw it before I did?”

He grins. “Baby… I saw it the first time you made him coffee without asking how he takes it.”

I laugh, tears slipping free down my cheeks as I pull him into a hug, burying my face in his shoulder. “How are you always so good to me?”

He wraps his arms around me, warm and sure. “Because you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. And if Jack becomes part of that too, then… maybe he’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to us.”

And somewhere, deep in my chest, something finally settles. Something clicks into place. Because Mick’s right. Jack fits.

—

It’s late, and the apartment feels quieter than usual.

The TV’s still glowing softly with the Netflix menu, long past the point where it asked if we were still watching. The takeout containers are scattered across the coffee table, half-eaten spring rolls abandoned in favor of something heavier that’s been hanging in the air all evening.

Jack sits on the floor across from us, legs stretched out, hair a little messy from the ocean wind earlier. Mick’s beside me, his shoulder brushing mine, his thumb tracing slow, steady circles against the back of my hand.

It’s time.

I glance at Mick. He gives the smallest nod.

I swallow and look at Jack.

“Jack,” I say softly.

His eyes lift to mine immediately. So open. So guarded. My heart squeezes.

“We wanted to talk to you.”

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stiffen. Just nods. “Okay.”

Mick shifts slightly, his voice low but certain. “We’ve been talking a lot… about how things have changed. How they feel now. With you.”

Jack stays quiet, listening the way he always does—with his whole heart, even if he doesn’t realize it. I take a breath. A real one.

“You’ve become really important to us,” I say gently. “I love Mick. I always will. That hasn’t changed. But somewhere along the way… I started loving you too.”

I see it land in his eyes like thunder.

And then Mick speaks, calm and grounded. “I care about you more than I expected to, Jack. Not as someone crashing on our couch. Not as a friend we needed to help. But as someone I want here. With us.”

It’s terrifying to say it out loud. Even with Mick’s hand still in mine. Even with the way Jack’s gaze softens like he’s seeing sunlight for the first time in days.

“You’re allowed to say no,” I add quickly, heart pounding. “We’ll still love you. We’ll still want you in our lives. This isn’t some pressure thing. We just—”

“I’m in.”

He says it like he’s been holding it in for months.

“I’m in,” he repeats, quieter. “God, I’ve been in for months.”

Tears burn behind my eyes before I can stop them. My breath catches in my throat.

Mick tilts his head, steady as ever. “You sure?”

Jack nods, eyes on mine. “I’ve never been more sure of anything. I just… didn’t think I was allowed to want this.”

That’s all it takes. I move across the floor before I even think, my arms sliding around him, pressing my cheek to his shoulder. He wraps his arms around me immediately, tight and desperate and familiar. And then Mick is there too—his arms around both of us, grounding us, completing something I didn’t even realize had been unfinished until this very moment. Because this isn’t messy. It isn’t complicated. It’s love. Real, deep, terrifying love. And for the first time, it doesn’t feel like too much. It feels like exactly enough.

—

yn_wolff

liked by jackdoohan, mickschumacher, georgerussell63 & 7,090,875 others.

yn_wolff : my boys forever n ever

—

user has disabled comments on this post.

—

[notsodelirious]

silly little fluff bit for Jason before I turn in and ignore my writing for a while (absolute not proofread)

small cw for food insecurity in this first para of this <3 take care

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

Jason knew hunger.

He had grown up on scraps and leftovers, nibbling on the last bite of the meal after his mother had declared she wasn’t hungry anymore.

He was grown from noodle packs and stale soups, cut bread crusts and funny canned meat.

He’d been raised on hunger so he’d never cared for food.

It was sustenance, he needed it to grow, to stay awake and stay active. Food had a purpose. He just needed enough to live, it didn’t matter what it tasted like, how it felt.

It was food.

He didn’t care for food.

Not until he returned from patrol one evening to find you pulling a bake tray from the oven.

“Hi!”

He paused as he looked at you, all bright smiles and heat flushed cheeks. Whatever dish you had been cooking smelled divine, permeating your entire living space, even creeping under his helmet.

“Hey,” he said hesitantly as he stepped into your living room, closing the window behind him.

“I made lasagna,” you said as you set the tray on the burner and uncovered it just as he pulled off his helmet. His mouth didn’t water when he saw your work and drifted closer to get a better smell.

It wasn’t that he’d never seen good food before—Alfred was beyond good in the kitchen and the League always had good chefs in rotation but this was different.

You two stood together in the small kitchen, comfortably warm in the heat radiating from oven, over a dish made with nothing but store bought ingredients and a recipe passed down from mother to child.

“I didn’t know if you had preferences but I think I’ve seen you eat everything I put in this,” you said as you wiped your hands on a tea towel before tucking it away.

“No, no,” Jason said quickly, his throat tight and he didn’t know where his voice went—he pulled off his glove before resting his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing gently, “It looks great.”

“Fuck yeah,” you smiled up at him before slipping out of his grip, “Go wash up, I’ll let the table.”

“I can help-“

“You stink,” you playfully swatted his ass with the tea towel. “Wash.”

He put his hands up in mock surrender as he dragged his feet out of the kitchen but complied, taking a quick shower before coming back to the kitchen in borrowed clothes and wet hair.

“Oh, I could have helped,” he said as he watched you set glasses of water on the makeshift dining table against the wall.

“You were busying becoming less gross,” you shrugged as you gave him a cheeky smile before sitting down.

“This feels like bullying.”

“Never,” your bright eyes followed him as he took a seat in front of you. “You don’t have to wait to start,” you said softly as you picked up your own fork, watching as he awkwardly wiped his hands on your his sweatpants.

“Bon appétit.”

You snorted, softly kicking him under the table.

“Good?” you asked after he took his first bite. His shoulders dropped as he breathed in.

It was delicious—it was seasoned and warm and ever so slightly oversalted, more tomato than beef. His eyes didn’t burn and his hands didn’t tremble as he ate bite after bite, ignoring your joking warning to slow down or he’d make himself sick.

“There’s more on the stove,” you said.

Because you’d never let him go hungry.

“Help yourself.”

“Yes, sir.”

You snorted as you separated the pasta from the sauce.

“Don’t call me sir.”

“Yes ma’am.”

His shit eating grin never left until you slammed foot into his shin again.

“Fuck!”

“Love you too.”

•─────⋅☾⊱♰⊰☽⋅─────•

okay so I lied, I won’t technically be forgetting about my writing for the next couple of days bc I’ll have a couple of pieces queued to be posted but I definitely will no be active — requests are still closed during my assignment periods (they’re kicking my ass send help pls) but here’s my masterlist for more stuff <3

[seraphicsentences]

hii mamas, probably stupid since youve been writing less, but js incase can i req ellie swiping through an album of videos and photos of reader, but then her mood is instantly changed when she swipes to a sx recording thta she completely forgot about? miss youu 😔😔

i’m sorry baby ik i suck ive been reaaall busy lately so i haven’t had much time for writing but! here’s a short one. working through requests slowly but surely. enjoy!

thinking about loser!ellie turning pussy drunk for you, or rather, the thought of you, in seconds. bc when am i not thinking about loser!ellie?

loser!ellie, naturally, never leaves the house. why would she— when she has her savage starlight comics stacked up on her shelf, her xbox hooked up, locked and loaded with a never ending amount of games, and most importantly, you, to come over whenever she pleases.

except for now, unfortunately. you had gone out to see an old friend who was visiting in town, and ellie, trying her very best to be a respectful girlfriend, decided to stay in (against her wishes).

as the pathetic, attached, and adorable loser she was, she had resorted to scrolling through her compiled camera album of you, which you self- titled “the prettiest, coolest, smartest, awesomest girl ever. aka your wife.”

she laughed under her breath, shaking her head fondly at the statement as she continued to swipe through countless candids, selfies, and clips of you. her girl.

she couldn’t help but smile sweetly into the crook of her elbow, head falling sideways into her mussed bed as she relived her favorite moments with you, which was really actually every moment she spent with you.

after skimming through an 8 minute long video of the two of you trying, and failing, to kill a small bug on her bedroom wall, it’s safe to say ellie’s heart was warm, and filled to the brim.

the next video’s thumbnail doesn’t immediately draw up any memories of hers, a blurry view of what seems to be her wall of space posters, so she assumes it to be an accidental recording.

but it’s— 18 minutes long??

curiosity winning her over, ellie clicks on the video, a loading symbol popping up on the screen briefly before sounds of heavy breathing overtake the room.

bedsheets rustle in the background, as ellie watches what appears to be her own hand scrambling at the phone’s lens, propping it up on her bedside table.

the view is what can only be described as filthy. your back arching off the mattress, legs tied to opposite posts on the bed as you writhe, gasping for air as ellie holds a vibrator lush against your clit.

“ah! ellie!” you’re crying out, ankles twisting and pulling at the grasps they’re in.

present-day ellie’s face glows a deep red, her breathing already picking up as she watches the screen, entranced. her legs come together, squeezing, as she begins to rock her hips down into the bed ever-so-subtly, clit grazing the seam of her pants in reach for the smallest sparks of stimulation.

she had completely forgotten about this video, the post-sex exhaustion wiping it from her memory, but it served as quite the pleasant surprise for her pathetic loser!self now. she flips over onto her back.

heart pumping, she roams her fingers across her navel, dipping under her boxers as she stares at her past self humping greedily on one of your thighs, head thrown back. your hands were gripped on the meat of her hips, pushing her down harder against yourself as she continued to shakily rub the toy over you.

her soft whimpers intermingled with your pleading moans to form an addicting symphony— ellie biting down on her lip as the tip her finger brushes over her pulsing clit.

“ellie, please, need your fingers,” you whine in the current scene.

“you got ‘em,” she hears herself husk out.

ellie groans, her finger twitching down involuntarily to press harder into her needy, puffy clit.

“fuck,” she swears under her breath, head falling back into a pillow as she fucks her hips up harder against her hand. her jaw drops open, head spinning as she pleads for your touch. simply yearning like the fucking loser she is, whimpering your name over and over again as she pants out heavily.

video-ellie has now ditched the vibrator, fucking her fingers messily into your weeping pussy as you raise a hand up to cup her heat.

“gonna let me stuff you up, els?” you ask, half-lidded with a surprisingly cocky smirk for the amount you’re dripping down your thighs.

“please,” ellie cries now, in sync with her recorded whines as she replicates your motions, a halfhearted attempt to relive the eye-rolling experience.

you, or she finally slides two fingers in, curling them impatiently to rub over that one spot that has her whispering, “please mommy.”

the phone falls onto the mattress, filthy sounds still playing in the background as ellie clutches the bedsheets instead, twisting them for dear life. her fingers thrust more rapidly now, sounds of her slick filling the air as she spreads her legs eagle-wide to reach even deeper.

how pathetic she is. this wet from just a video recording? this desperate for your touch? she’s nearing her finish already, beating past-her, which from the sound of it, seems to be getting edged.

her fingers jam harder into her g-spot, little uh-uh-uh’s slipping out from between her lips with the movement. ellie’s other hand scrambles for her thrown phone, dazedly clicking your contact and thumb searching for the audio recording option.

she can’t hold it anymore, legs kicking and squirming as she tries to get her words out.

“m-iss y-you real, real- fuck- bad. mmph please- need you ho-home n-ow, babe, g-gonna cum, gonna cum, gonna cum,” she rambles, her voice getting higher as she gets more lost in the sensations.

her back flies off the bed, hips bucking animalistically as she chants your name loudly, fingers still moving at lightning speed.

“miss you,” she whines quietly now, catching her breath and pouting as she slides her fingers out of her raw pussy, before hitting send with her not cum-coated hand.

yes this was short asf. n what about it? i banged it out in a zoooooom. ;)

[luveline]

Idk if you've ever written it, but like, hotch having to save bau!r after she's been kidnapped and tourtered and shit and when hotch finds them, babes is BLEEDING and shit and like barely coherent but spewing the absolute most random bullshit to hotch bc their panicking and whatnot?

thank you for requesting 💌 fem, 1.2k

Hotch has felt sick for three days. 

He stands with his ear pressed to his shoulder, as though holding the ear piece further in will bring news of you quicker. His hands are up and ready, torch and firearm held aloft, wrists crossed. 

Morgan has to go in first. Morgan, because if you’re dead, Hotch will take actions that will disbar him from being Unit Chief. He can’t keep his head, not if you’re gone. His anger will swallow him whole, and he will do things that can’t be forgiven. 

His stomach churns, waiting, waiting, waiting. The sky is dark as pitch and the house they surround doesn’t stir for a time. 

Then, low and long, carrying heavy through the air like a sledgehammer to his chest, is the reed of your screaming. It’s a strangled sound, sobbing to begin with, begging as it ends. Hotch hears your, “No, no, please! Please! Please.” Your third please fractures into a writhing scream as the pain begins again. 

Hotch’s arms twitch, threatening to fall to his sides. You’re alive, but… 

“Okay, we’re going in,” Morgan says through the ear piece, clearly having heard the same agony as Hotch. “Right now. Team two with Hotch. Everyone ready?” 

You must have screamed so loudly for it to get through walls. That’s all Hotch can think as he follows behind the second team, the sounds of cracking wood and tight footsteps ahead.

He’s not in the room, but he’s down the hall, he can hear the fuss as he hurries forward. “Drop the weapon!” Morgan shouts, evidence of his own anger in the sheer booming volume of his voice. “Drop the weapon now! Drop it!” 

A sharper crack as a bullet hits something and a thud. Hotch forces himself into the room just in time to see a large, short-haired figure fall to the floor. 

You’re covered in red and purple and brown, blood in long lines and gushing from deep wounds, a mess of it. He doesn’t even know where to start, your gutted, exhausted sobbing like a knife in his stomach, your limp hands hanging either side of the strange chair you’ve been strapped to. “Morgan,” you say, audibly relieved and yet your pain obvious and electric as you gasp for air, “Morgan, you have to get me out.” 

“I’ve got you,” Hotch says, holstering his gun in one breath and by your side the next.

A SWAT agent begins to saw through your binds with a serrated knife. Hotch’s hands stutter on the metal ends of the chair, wanting to touch you but terrified he’ll put a hand in a wound he hasn’t noticed. 

“Hotch,” you say, and your relief is worse now. Like you aren’t covered in your own blood, like his being there has fixed everything. 

“Y/N,” he says back, holding your elbow carefully, “it’s okay, it’s all right.” 

“You have to get the straps off of me. I need to go home-”

“I know, that’s what we’re doing. We’ll get them off of you–”

“–I have to go home, Hotch. You have to take me home.” 

He knows that medical are close behind them, they’re coming in just as soon as the building has been cleared, and there’s more than enough agents to have it done in the next thirty seconds. He has to assess you in that time. He can take care of you. 

The SWAT agent cuts your last bindings and you immediately attempt to get up, gasping in pain when four hands push you down at the same time. “Sit down,” Hotch says, “Y/N, just stay there, just for a second.”

“No, no, let me down, I need to go home, I haven’t looked after anything and– and the laundry’s piled up, and–”

“Honey,” he says firmly, “I’m gonna take you home. I am.” He meets your eyes, panic and tears and concerning bloodshot clouding your vision. “I’m gonna take you home, but please stay still. Just until the EMS is here. Just so they can look at you.” 

“I want to go home now,” you say, nearly shrieking, grasping at his arm. It’s so loud in the room with so many people speaking that he’s almost glad for it. 

Your fingers slide down his sleeve and leave streaks of gore in their wake. Your hands are caked in your own blood. Done with his bargaining, you push up into his arms and get onto one of your feet, an incredible amount of force behind you as you get your way. Your knees buckle immediately —Hotch scoops you up and dumps you back in your chair, even as you cry and cry into his chest. 

“No, I need to go home, I have so much to do, I can’t stay here,” you whine, pain eating at your voice, your fingers weakening where they’re pressed to his stomach. 

“I promise I’m going to take you home,” he says, ducking to speak directly into your ear. “Do you trust me? I promise I’m going to take you back home. Please, please, sweetheart, trust me.” 

You hiccup, tears thick running down your cheeks, and orange where they collect at your chin, chest heaving as you border incoherency. “I do trust you. I– I trust you, I just–”

He takes a showful breath. “Deep breath. I’ll bring you home soon.” 

“All my plants are dead,” you mumble, blood smudging over your eyelids as you rub them harshly. 

Hotch holds your wrists. 

— <3 

He keeps his promise (though you don’t remember him making it, not beyond what Morgan recounts). Hotch takes you home when you’re well enough to be there, and he, done with pretences, stays for a while as you recover. 

“What are you doing?” you ask, more tired than you’ve ever been in your life, peering at him through sticky lashes where you lay in bed. 

He’s odd to see without shoes. “Nothing,” he says, misting the leaves of your window plant with a frown. “Just hoping I can bring this one back to life.” 

You’re not sure why he’s so worried about the plants. It can’t be judgement; he knows exactly why they died. 

Well. Whatever professionalism was between you is well and truly gone. You wonder what it is you said to him that made him finally snap, but it was nice to wake up with his hand in yours, and it’s nicer still to see him each morning. When you clear your throat and look at him longingly, you know without asking that he’s going to find his way back to your side, and kiss your cheek, hands smelling of fresh soil. He does it all with ease. 

“You brought me back to life,” you joke weakly. 

“I had much more help than the plants.” He’s been panicky around you sometimes since he found you again, but not scared. He tilts your face gently one way and then another. “You look pretty, but very tired. Why don’t you sleep some more, hm?” 

“Can I… I mean, do you think you could…” 

He takes your arm as he settles in to comfort beside you. His fingers begin to trace a gentle line down your arm, meandering around cuts and bruises. 

You close your eyes, hesitant of the darkness. “Are you sure I’m okay?” you ask quietly. 

“You’re home, honey. Safe and sound.” 

[miley1442111]

Hi my love! can you please do something with Spencer getting hurt in a case and baureader is there too and he can't get to her before he blacks out. When he wakes up, he's all 'where's my wife?' and the team are so confused bc, u don't have a wife?

but it turns out he does and she's pregnant?

thank you my lovely!

omg thank you so much for requesting this, it's so cute!

relief- s.reid

a/n: intended for fem reader, but imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: spencer can't get to you in time, waking up leads to the team finding out about a few things...

pairing: spencer reid x bau reader

warnings: general cm topics, talk of gunshots, wounds, hospitals, very brief mention of spencer's addiction, etc

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer heard the gunshot and his blood ran cold, adrenaline coursing through his body. Where were you?

He ran before he felt the wound in his back and collapsed with a shout. 

“I’m going for the pretty one next,” the unsub whispered in his ear as he stuck a finger into Spencer’s wound. Spencer groaned out in pain as his mind raced. “And I won’t be as nice.”

You were in danger and Spencer couldn’t do a thing to stop it. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Spencer woke up to the darkness of his hospital room, he pulled the IV in his arm and panic set in. He had no idea what they were putting in there, he had no idea how long he’d been out, and he had no idea where you were.

He ripped the IV out of his arm, alerting the nurse outside his door. He could see a figure in the corner of the room sitting from a chair and his heart leapt out of his chest. You were ok? 

“Sir, you need to calm down-” The nurse started, trying to get him back into bed. The lights flickered on and he was deeply disappointed in seeing that it was in fact Aaron in the corner. 

“Where is she?!” Spencer demanded, trying to get the much stronger nurse off of him. 

“Spencer, listen to your nurse,” Aaron instructed. 

“Where is my wife?!” He shouted again. “Where is she, Hotch?” 

Aaron looked at him, a quizzical expression on his face. “I’m not telling you anything unless you sit down.”

Spencer sat down, allowing the very irritated nurse to do his job. “Where is she?”

“Who is your wife?” Aaron asked.

“Y/n! Where is she?” He stressed, running a hand through his overgrown hair. 

“I’m here,” you smiled from the doorway before walking to Spencer’s side. You had some bruising and a broken wrist from your fight with the unsub, but you were nowhere near as bad as Spencer. One of his lungs had collapsed from the gunshot and he’d been out for a few days. “They’re not giving you any narcotics, don't worry. You’ve been out for three days, your lung collapsed, and I think that’s it-”

Spencer reached up and grabbed your face and pulled you down, kissing you passionately, albeit sloppily. You could feel the tears on his cheeks and your heart broke. The last few days had been so touch and go, you were scared Spencer wouldn’t be ok, that he would… You didn’t want to think about it.

“Are you ok?” He asked, pulling away.

“Broken wrist and a few bruises, I’ll be fine,” You smiled, a hand on his cheek. 

“Is the baby ok?” He asked as he placed a hand on your stomach. 

Aaron’s brows creased further as the rest of the team by the door looked in with dropped jaws. 

“She’s fine,” you smiled. “I probably just stressed her out a bit.”

Spencer’s eyes lit up. “She’s a girl?” He practically whispered. 

“Yeah, she’s a girl,” you chuckled as he pulled you closer, a dopey grin on his face as he hugged you and your small bump. 

"You're married?" Aaron asked.

“You’re pregnant?!” Penelope all but screamed from the door. “How did we not notice?” 

You chucked as Spencer just held you close, not even paying attention to the team around you two. 

“Maybe you’re all not as good as you think you are,” Spencer suggested, his head resting between your side and arm. You laughed along with him as the team rolled their eyes, but smiled anyway. 

Spencer had never been so relieved.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, top gun, obx, hunger games, marvel+)

[ba9go]

bakugou katsuki finds you annoying (he has a soft spot for you) pt. 2

sort-of enemies to lovers with bakugou!! bakugou being avoidant bc he’s bad at feelings. he’s a little shit in this one but he makes it up to the reader!! liiiiiight angst/comfort.

pls read part 1 before 🧡 part 3 (nsfw)

the more you interact with bakugou, the more you’re baffled by the insults he comes up with.

you bump into him in the corridor, and the two of you are completely alone so it’s impossible for you to pretend you haven’t seen him, so you wave awkwardly at him.

“hey, bakug—”

“fuck off, rabbitface.”

bakugou brushes past you as he walks by, leaving you gaping at him in complete horror. “my ears are not that long!”

“cry about it, maybe your nose will twitch too!” bakugou responds without looking back at you, and you find yourself holding your nose on the rest of your way back to your room. it does not twitch one bit.

the day of the midterm exams, you’re full of jitters, standing outside the classroom and flipping through your notes frantically for some last minute revision.

“nervous?” you look up to see bakugou standing in front of you, smirking down at you with his arms crossed.

“yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “i don’t wanna fuck this up.”

“don’t be stupid. you studied, didn’t you?” bakugou’s smirk drops and he raises an eyebrow at you. you nod, and he clicks his tongue at you. “only thing stopping you now is you, then.” bakugou pokes the side of your head twice, roughly but not hard enough to actually hurt. it catches you by surprise, and it happens so fast that by the time his hand drops back to his side, you’re not sure it even happened.

“better not fuck it up, buttercup.”

as bakugou walks away from you, you’re still feeling frazzled, just not for the test anymore.

by this point, you’ve given up on asking mina and the rest for advice. they’re all convinced of the same thing — that bakugou somehow has a soft spot for you. you don’t believe it.

some days, bakugou looks a little less murderously at you, and you think that maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t completely hate your guts, but other days, he completely brushes past you like you’re invisible and you feel like a fool for ever hoping that maybe the two of you could be friends.

but then bakugou starts ignoring you more and more, and you start to wonder if he actually hates you.

you run into bakugou on the way to the gym, and you grab his sleeve before you can even stop to think twice. “bakugou, you good?”

“hah?!” bakugou recoils away from you and looks at you like he’s repulsed by your touch. “fuck do you want, extra?”

extra. you’ve noticed that bakugou’s started calling you that a lot more often recently. you’ve heard him say it before, but not to you. was that all you meant to him now? when did that happen? what changed?

“what do you want? did i piss you off or something? why are you being so—”

“i’ve always been like this,” bakugou hisses at you, and you don’t think you’ve seen bakugou this angry at you before. “and you’ve always pissed me the fuck off. so just fuck off already, would ya?”

bakugou stomps away like godzilla after a rampage, and you’re the tokyo that he’s completely ravaged.

soft spot, my ass.

for the next two weeks, you listen to bakugou. you stay out of his way, you don’t even try to meet his gaze when you walk into class or when you walk past him in the hallways. ignoring him didn’t feel natural to you, but every time you saw bakugou, you reminded yourself that you were just another extra. you’d get used to not talking to bakugou eventually.

the others picked up on this change as well. kaminari casually asked if bakugou had come up with any “interesting, new” names for you, to which you had responded, “haven’t spoken to him in a while, but he did call me an “extra” the last time.”

“extra?” kaminari repeated slowly, raising his brows. “he called you an extra? that’s low. especially since it’s you.” you shrug, and kaminari frowns. “have you talked to kirishima about it? i’m stupid but i don’t speak caveman like bakugou does. kiri’s our best bet at deciphering him.”

you decline kaminari’s suggestion, insisting that it was no big deal, but it seemed kaminari went ahead and told kirishima anyway, because “bro code”.

(1) new message from red riot:

red riot: hey, sorry about bakugou, he’s been a real asshole to you lately

you: hey kiri!!! pls don’t apologise

you: how do u even know lol? kaminari?

red riot: ding ding ding

you: 👎

red riot: sorry… bro code

red riot: i beat some sense into him dw

you: poor kami

red riot: oh no i meant bakugou

you: what

red riot: (👍ᐛ )👍

turns out, your conversation with kaminari had completely set off a chain reaction that you absolutely could not stop, with kirishima (bless his heart) confronting bakugou himself.

you: what

you: u mean u just went over and kicked his ass?

red riot: yup!

red riot: well i guess we took turns

you: ????

red riot: like i got two punches in and he got two punches in and we talked and then we called it a day

you: ???????????????

red riot: (👍ᐛ )👍

you don’t dare to ask kirishima for the details of what exactly happened during their brawl, and you don’t know how you’re ever going to face bakugou ever again. the thought of running into bakugou legitimately scares you, so you decide to hole yourself in your room for the rest of the evening, just to be safe.

well, you thought you were safe, until…

(1) new message from Unknown Number:

Unknown Number: It’s Bakugou.

Unknown Number: I need to talk to you.

Unknown Number: You in your room?

you: no (👍ᐛ )👍

Unknown Number: Yeah right

Unknown Number: I’m at the door.

you’re filled with equal parts dread and fear as you shuffle over to the door reluctantly. you peek through the peephole to see bakugou standing there with a plastic bag in his hand.

you open the door hesitantly.

“you look like shit,” bakugou says, and it sounds so familiar and so right, you almost burst out laughing despite the context of the situation. despite yourself, you can’t help the small smile that forms on your lips.

“here.” before you can say anything, bakugou’s grabbing your wrist and handing you the plastic bag. it smells like food so you think its takeout, but you look inside and see that it has a little plastic bento box and metal chopsticks.

“is this your way of apologising?” you grin cheekily, hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, but bakugou stares back at you unflinchingly.

“yeah,” bakugou says. “is it working?”

‘it worked,’ bakugou thinks as he lets you fling your arms around his neck and pull him into a hug.

“it’s working,” you mumbled into his shoulder, and you feel two large hands grip around your waist.

extras:

(👍ᐛ )👍 is so kiri-coded i love it

(👍ᐛ )👍

kirishima was pissed after kaminari told him what happened between you and bakugou

he walked over to bakugou’s room all prepared with ice packs and shit

knocked twice, waited for bakugou to open the door, threw two punches

bakugou was confused asf but it pissed him off so punched kiri right back out of reflex

the fight stops then and there, kirishima hands bakugou the ice pack, and they both sit on his bed to talk

both are just holding ice packs to their cheeks

kirishima tells bakugou that it was unmanly of him to be mean to you when you did nothing but try to be nice to him

bakugou just listens quietly, he doesn’t really say much, doesn’t really know what to do to fix the situation

like he already knew that he fucked up before kirishima came to rock his shit

but kirishima is a true bro and he gives bakugou advice on how to make things up to you

(👍ᐛ )👍

taglist (thank you for your support!!): @anicaaa67 @maddietries @valeriyaaak @v3n7s @deimosjay @zaiban2989 @girls-overflower @notmeduhh @dreamcastgirl99 @busdriver-move-that-ass @atashiboba @kathsuhki @armeenix @channnee @antiwhores @sukunasbottomlefteyeball @kenqki @vikizzy @thesimpybitch @eempxth @hanta-seros-wifey @itztaki @thekidscallmebosss

[alloftheimagines]

abby anderson | it's you, part ii

masterlist | part i

words: 2.8k warnings: 18+, hangover, alcohol, vomiting, blood, injury, quiet sapphic pining, baadly written action bc i'm tired. cliffhanger, sorry. this was supposed to be the RESOLUTION and instead i created MORE PROBLEMS for them but don't worry i think the next part will be the last. also, curvy reader <3 synopsis: you have no memory of drunkenly confessing your feelings for abby last night, but she does — which could just serve as a distraction that puts you both in harm's way when on patrol.

The morning light is too bright. Your eyes tear like they’re full of grit, and you moan when your head begins to pound. Fuck, you can’t remember ever feeling this awful, except maybe when you got food poisoning a few years back. And everything smells weird. Not yours. Your duvet isn’t as scratchy, the mattress not as lumpy. 

“Fuck,” you hiss, because you feel like you’re going to throw up, and also like you already have, tongue dry as sandpaper and throat burning like somebody’s poured acid down it.

“Easy,” a voice soothes. A bucket is shoved into your lap just in time, though all that leaves you is bile and water. The retching merges with sobs as the pain hits you at all angles. “You’re okay. Get it all up,” somebody is saying, like you have a fucking choice. A hand draws slow circles on your back, and you don’t know if it makes things worse or better. 

It feels like eons before it passes and you can finally figure out who’s taking care of you. And then time stops altogether when you lock eyes with Abby, of all people. Not only that, but you recognise her room, not yours.

“Shit.” Last night flashes through your mind in fragmented images. Drinking that god awful beer. Seeing Abby and trying to forget her. And then, it’s all… blurred. 

“You okay?” Abby is all concern, her brown eyes creasing at the corners as she wipes a sweaty strand of hair from your face. 

“How’d I get here?”

“Not easily. I ended up carrying you most of the way, but it was easier to stop here than drop you down the hall.”

“Oh my god.” You groan, embarrassment washing over you. “I’m so sorry. Shit, how much did I drink?”

“Enough to put Manny to shame, I think.” The corner of her mouth twitches. “Here. Got you some painkillers.”

From the nightstand, she offers you the pills, and you’re quick to down them with a glass of water. Everything tastes bad, sour, and it’s an effort to keep it all down. But you’re not going to embarrass yourself in front of her anymore than you already have, so you sit straighter. “What time is it?”

“Just after six. I gotta get going for patrol, but I’ll cover for you, okay?”

As if it couldn’t get any worse. You hadn’t even thought about fucking patrol last night. “You can’t do that. I’ll never hear the end of it. Just… give me a few minutes.” When you try to sit up, your stomach lurches and your head ends up in the bucket again. “Okay, maybe like fifteen,” you decide when the water and pills you’d just downed make a reappearance. 

Abby frowns. “You can’t work like this. Just take the day off. I’ll tell them you caught some flu.”

“They’ll know I'm hungover like everyone else, and Jesus, I am not going to be that idiot. Thank you for taking care of me, Abby, but I don’t need coddling, okay?”

And to prove it, you finally stand, using the wall as support when your knees buckle. Abby tries to catch your waist, but you bat her away, in search for your clothes. Which are not on your body. 

Your eyes widen, and you cover up the parts that aren’t hidden by your underwear. “Wait… We didn’t...?”

“No! No, god, no.” As though only now realising your bareness, she turns around, her cheeks smattering pink in the dawn light. She cuts a perfect silhouette in front of the window, broad and hewn from stone, her braid snaking down her back  — a little messier than usual. You resist the urge to tidy the stray hairs. 

Judging from her current reaction, she’d fucking hate that. You can’t help but take offense at how disgusted she is at the very idea, heart squeezing its usual reminder: she doesn’t want you. She’ll never want you. 

“You, uh, just got a little hot in the night, I guess.” Sure enough, she pulls back her duvet to reveal your clothes, cargos crumpled and shirt smelling too much like last night’s beer. When you grimace gingerly, she takes a grey sweater from her pile and drapes it over your arms. 

She’s still making a special effort not to look at anything below your neck when she says, “Here. Should fit.” 

It won’t fit, because Abby is Abby and while she’s all muscle, you’re all curves, but you peel it over your head, grateful that it’s dry and vomit-less. And it smells like her, you realise: faint musk and that citrus soap she always tries to hunt down on supply runs. For a minute, you’re drowning in her, and the sickness ebbs. 

“You should get downstairs. Don’t be late because of me,” you decide, because you can’t breathe with her here and you’re so fucking mortified that you’ve ended up hungover and naked in her bed. In fact, you might still be drunk. The beer is spitting through your pores, vision blurred. 

She shrugs, like she isn’t usually the first to be ready every damn day. “I don’t mind. I just… Are you sure you want to do this? You don’t look well.”

“I’m fine,” you snap. You’re tired, hurting, wondering why you always have to make yourself look so pathetic in front of her. 

“All right. Suit yourself,” she mutters under her breath, and moves to get her bag ready. Only then do you wonder where she slept last night: Manny’s bed is as rumpled as ever, and Abby has only ever joked that she might catch something if she went anywhere near it. But there’s nowhere else in this tiny apartment…

“I hope I didn’t cause you any trouble last night.” Your voice shakes. 

Abby shakes her head. “I consider the fact that my carpet and bed are clean a win. You’re fine.”

But it doesn’t feel fine, not when she shifts from foot to foot like there’s something more to say. Whatever it is is lost when she shrugs her backpack over one shoulder. “Meet you down there?”

“Sure. Thanks. And… I’m really sorry, again.”

Abby hums and is gone, like she can’t get rid of you fast enough. You’re left with only the sourness of your breath and questions about what else might have happened last night. Maybe it’s better you don’t remember.

***

Since you’re in no fit state for breakfast, Abby nabs a granola bar from the canteen that she hopes you might want to nibble on later. She doesn’t like that you’re coming, and not just because you’re sick. You’re a distraction she doesn’t need when tensions between the Scars and the Wolves are this high. Try as she might, she can’t forget your words. 

I’m not in love with you. Only a little bit.

It’s clear you don’t remember, or maybe you don’t want to remember, but she… she can’t stop. Did you mean it, or should she do the smart thing and brush it off as drunken ramblings?

But there’s a nagging at the back of her mind. It’s been… odd between you two for a while. An electricity sits between you, even when you’re focused on your patrols. Even when you’re fighting. She’s aware of you always: every step, every breath. She knows it’s not just her who feels it, because you’ve changed around her. It’s like you’re always trying to hide. 

She just wants to see you again. 

When she gets to the truck, she grunts at the sight that awaits her. Fucking Richie. She at least gets to relish the sight of his bruises, left there from when she’d punched him the night before. Clearly, he remembers everything perfectly, because his glower is sharp enough to cut glass. 

“Ouch. Looking a little worse for wear, Rich,” she jabs, feigning innocence as she climbs into the back of the truck and lounges on the bench across from him. “What happened?”

His fingers curl tight around his rifle. “Fuck you, Abby,” 

If she wasn’t worried about you, she might chuckle, but she doesn’t know what went down last night before she stepped in. Only knows she can’t trust him, and if he touches you…

She digs the heel of her boot into his toe hard. “No, Richie, fuck you. If you mess up today, you won’t have any teeth left in that empty skull of yours. I told you to leave her alone last night. Y’think you can follow orders properly this time and do your fucking job without making it harder for everyone else?”

Richie grinds his teeth, face grotesque with hatred. “Guess we’ll see.”

“Don’t test me, asshole. I swear to god.” Given the chance, she’d love to fucking kill him, but since she’s surrounded by colleagues who expect better from her, she plants herself back down. Right on cue, you haul yourself into the truck with Alice, who wags her tail happily. 

Your gaze brushes over Richie without any acknowledgment. “We good to go?”

“You look like shit,” he says, and she decides that he will not, in fact, have any teeth left by the end of the day.

But you’re better than her at blocking it out, so you sit down, running your shaky hand through Alice’s fur. And as the truck pulls out of the gates, Abby is too aware of the space between you on the bench. What it would feel like to close it. Then the broken ruins of the city rise up ahead, and she remembers that there are more important things to focus on. 

***

The two of you fall into step as you begin your patrol, the spring wind rattling through dilapidated apartment buildings. Alice ambles ahead, ever-fixed on her duty to protect, just like Abby. Maybe Richie wasn’t wrong with that little insult he’d thrown out about her being your bulldog last night. 

She looks down, kicking a stone across the concrete with the toe of her boot. “So, you don’t remember much from last night I guess.”

As though defensive, your gun is pulled tighter to your body, and you scour the buildings like you’re purposely trying not to look at her. Again. “I think I prefer it that way,” you admit. “Do I want to ask how badly I embarrassed myself?”

Abby smirks, though something inside her clenches. It’s stupid, but she wishes you remember, just to know what you’d say sober. Or, more accurately, how you’d say it. She doesn’t know what she expects: the two of you have never paid interest in anyone when it comes to dating, but…

But she imagines it, sometimes, when your hands brush as you deal her cards during game nights, or when you talk about your old home with a sad, watery smile. It’s been a while since anybody has touched her, spoke softly to her, paid attention, and if she wanted anyone to do that, it would be you. Not fucking Owen, like you assumed. She still had to talk to him about that later. Couldn’t have him thinking she still wanted him that way, not with Mel pregnant.

And now you’re wearing her sweater, and it’s slack around your arms, stretched around your waist, and it might be the hottest damn thing she’s ever seen. She hopes you don’t wash it before you give it back, hopes your scent remains long after you do so that she can at least keep the ember of want inside her alive. 

Pathetic, she knows, but she’s been… tethered to you for a long time. Unable to take her eyes from you when you’re not looking. You have a way of moving through the world like rain: gently, but you make everything shine. She’s often wondered what would happen in your storm; thinks maybe she saw a taste of a torrent last night, because something other than the drink was wrong. Maybe still is. 

“I mean, Richie was being an ass to you,” she decides finally, because the rest feels like it should be hers alone, and she doubts you’d want to talk about it.

You roll your eyes. “Well, that’s something new and different. Since my hand is still functional, I’m guessing I didn’t do that to his face.”

Abby showed off her bruised knuckle with a flourish. “Defended your honour.”

“Oof, then I’m sorry it’s all a blur. Would love to savour that image.”

“I can recreate it sometime.” 

You both chuckle, though Abby isn’t joking. 

“So, you seemed to be avoiding me last night,” she pointed out. 

“Not very well, since I ended up in your bed. You sure about that?”

“I mean before you got too hammered to walk. You said you didn’t wanna talk to me. Any particular reason?”

You take a breath, dabbing the sweat from your brow. “Abby…”

But she never gets her answer, because a distant whistle has you both on high alert. Alice’s ears perk up, and Abby beckons you toward the nearest building. Your guns may be more effective than the Scars’ arrows, but the bastards have been creeping up on your perimeters recently. Shooting your men before they can so much as blink. 

You hop inside the broken window of a destroyed barber shop, creeping up to the second floor, where an apartment is covered in debris. “Let’s try to get eyes on them before we make a move,” Abby whispers. “D’you know which way it came from?”

You shake your head, lip pinched between your teeth. She tries not to look at the pink, dented flesh. Fails. 

I’m not in love with you. Only a little.

You squint into the scope of your rifle, scanning the area – like she should be, except she's still fixated on you. That little bunch between your eyebrows. The strained muscles of your shoulder beneath the tail of the gun. “I don’t see anyone.”

Shit, she needs to focus. She peers out, then falls into deathly stillness when figures begin emerging from half a dozen different buildings along the street, all of them with their bows poised. 

“It’s a fucking ambush,” Abby whispers. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

The three of you creep back downstairs, avoiding the shattered glass in the barbershop as you head into the back office. 

“Thank fuck,” Abby says at the sight of an exit. “C’mon.”

Her muscles strain as she thrusts open the rusty door, guiding you out first. You both keep low, dashing down a dingy alleyway that smells like shit, and she can’t help but notice that your breathing is laboured, stamina depleted after last night’s antics. She laces her fingers through yours, afraid that if you have to run, you won’t be able to keep up. That’s when Alice barks at something behind them, and Abby twists to find a Seraphite rounding onto the alley, ready to take aim. She whistles with fierce determination. You shoot your gun, but your aim is piss poor, and you hit her thigh instead of anything vital.

“Run,” Abby orders, because there’s no time to try again, and then you bolt at the next turn. 

Another Scar lies in wait, and you shout her name as an arrow flies through the air. It misses, this time, but you trip shakily as she yanks you back from where you came, taking another path in the opposite direction: towards the danger instead of away from it.

She tries. She tries so fucking hard to get you out, but you’re like deadweight in her arms, and a million arrows are flying at you as you fall back out into the open. 

“C’mon,” she begs roughly as you duck over and over behind her. Alice defends you as best she can, but you’re overwhelmed, outnumbered, and the other Wolves are nowhere in sight. 

You skip across the road, using cars as your cover. Abby scans you frantically, unsure if you’re hurt or just exhausted. Sweat is soaking through your — her — sweater, and your eyes are wide. Foggy. She knew you shouldn’t have fucking come.

“Did they get you?” she asks frantically.

“No, no I’m fine, but I’m slowing you down. You need to go.”

“Shut up,” she barks. She isn’t doing this now. She’s getting you both out of here. Alice, too. Her eyes snag on an exit route up ahead, a break in a wire fence that will take you closer to base. If you can stay low, you can make it. “Get up there. Cover me.”

“Abby—”

“Just do it!” she yells, and this time, you obey, rushing ahead. She shoots one Scar down; two, three. She’s so focused on the ones on the ground that she doesn't see the arrow flying from the second floor of an apartment building across the street. 

So focused on getting you safe that she doesn’t feel it plunge into her shoulder until pain splinters through her seconds after the fact. 

You scream her name, but she’s gritting her teeth, ploughing forward because it’s all she can do, and somehow, you make it beyond the break in the fence, running on heavy limbs. Now, you’re faster, sharper, the one throwing shots back as you sprint through courtyards and backroads towards home. 

And she thinks that if she’d just been smarter, focused — if she hadn’t let you come in the first place — this wouldn’t have happened. She wouldn’t be gushing out blood, and you would be safe. 

But you’re ready to catch her when her legs give in minutes later. Ready to scream for help when Richie and another Wolf appear in the distance. And Abby tries to hold on because you beg her to. 

Because she is always holding on for you.

[endofthelinegang]

Hiiiiii! What about Frank x Reader set in the current DDBA times where they’re seeing each other for the first time in a WHILE. Like they had some sort of romantic tension back in the Daredevil season 2 days, but nothing ever came out of it and Frank went on one of his disappearing spells and she never heard from him again. Angsty smut? Or fluff? Or all 🤣 I have been deprived of seeing this man on my screen for too long and now I’m feral lol

hello my loveeee i left the smut out but left room incase we wanted a pt2 you let me know bc ur the boss of this one.

It had been years.

Not days. Not months. Years since you’d seen Frank Castle.

And now? He was standing right in front of you.

Looking older, looking rougher—still built like a goddamn wall, still carrying that same weight in his eyes, like the whole world had never stopped resting heavy on his shoulders. His hair was a little shorter, his beard more grown in, and there were new scars—ones you didn’t recognize, slashed across his knuckles, his jaw.

But his eyes? Those were the same.

Dark, searching. Eating up every inch of you like he was trying to memorize something he thought he’d never see again.

Your breath was caught somewhere between your lungs and your throat, chest tight as you forced yourself to swallow down the years of questions, of anger, of ache. He had disappeared—without warning, without a word, without anything but the memory of his rough hands and his rare, quiet laughs and the way he used to look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

And now he was here. Now he had the audacity to stand in front of you, like the years he’d been gone were just a blink, like he could step back into your life without shattering something inside you all over again.

Frank’s jaw flexed. “You gonna say something?”

His voice—God, his voice. That same gravel, that same quiet weight. But there was something else, too. Something hesitant.

Like maybe he wasn’t sure you would say something. Like maybe he thought you’d just turn and walk away.

You should.

But you didn’t.

Instead, your hands curled into fists at your sides, nails pressing hard into your palms. “You have some fucking nerve.”

Frank didn’t flinch. Didn’t look surprised. Didn’t do anything but stand there, watching you with that same quiet intensity.

You took a step forward. “You left.” Another step. “No calls. No messages. Not even a goddamn whisper that you were still alive.” Your voice shook, but you didn’t stop. “And now you think you can just—”

You stopped short, just inches from him now, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body, close enough to see the exact way his chest rose and fell, the slight clench of his jaw.

He didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. But his fingers twitched at his sides, like maybe he wanted to reach out.

Like maybe he knew he shouldn’t.

“Didn’t think you wanted to hear from me.”

Your throat tightened. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

Frank exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. His jaw flexed again, and for a second—for a single second—you thought maybe he’d close the distance between you. Thought maybe he’d reach for you like he used to, like he almost had all those years ago, before everything had crumbled around him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he just murmured, “I never wanted to leave.”

You swallowed, hard, against the lump in your throat. Against the way something raw and stupid cracked open in your chest. “But you did.”

Frank’s lips pressed together, his eyes dragging over your face like he was searching for something—something he wasn’t sure he still had the right to look for. And then, finally, his voice dropped lower, rougher.

“I know.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and buzzing, both of you standing there, staring at each other like you were trying to figure out what the hell to do next.

Then, without thinking, you reached out. Just a little. Just enough that your fingers brushed against his wrist—barely, just a ghost of contact—but even that was enough to make something in his entire body go still.

And then, slowly, his hand turned—palm up, rough fingers brushing against yours, just enough pressure that you could feel it all the way down to your bones.

Like maybe, just maybe, he’d been waiting for you to touch him first.

Like maybe he wasn’t sure you still would.

Your fingers curled slightly against his. Testing. Teasing. And when he didn’t pull away, when his breath hitched ever so slightly—

You yanked him forward and kissed him like he owed you the world.

And Frank—

Frank let you.

No hesitation, no second-guessing, just his hands gripping your waist, his breath sharp against your lips, and the unmistakable sound of something breaking between you.

Something that had been waiting to shatter for years.

His hands were rough, big and unyielding as they spread across your back, dragging you closer until your body was flush against his, chest to chest, breath mingling. The sheer heat of him made your head spin, made something low in your stomach tighten.

You barely had time to take a breath before his mouth was on yours again, deeper this time, rougher. His hands found your hips, fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp, and that—that little sound—made him groan, low and deep, like it had been locked inside him for too long.

Your fingers slid into his hair, tugging, desperate, and he growled—actually growled—before shoving you back until your spine hit the wall. His body caged yours in, all heat and tension and something dangerous curling in the space between you.

“You gonna let me?” he muttered against your lips, his voice wrecked, his forehead pressing to yours.

Let him what? Ruin you? Wreck every part of you that had missed him all these years? Leave you breathless and aching and unable to think about anything but him?

You exhaled sharply. “You better.”

Frank’s control snapped.

His hands grabbed your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the wall. His mouth was on your throat, your collarbone, his breath hot and uneven as he whispered things against your skin that you’d never let yourself dream about. His teeth scraped, just slightly, just enough to send a shudder straight down your spine.

But then—

He stopped.

Breath heaving, forehead still resting against yours, fingers flexing against your hips, like he was fighting himself.

“I shouldn’t,” he muttered, voice strained.

Your nails bit into his shoulders. “But you want to.”

His laugh was wrecked, almost bitter. “Yeah.”

You swallowed, heart hammering. “Then don’t stop.”

Frank exhaled sharply, eyes snapping up to yours, something wild and unhinged in them now.

And then, just like that—

He didn’t.